THE  UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 


Ah,  mademoiselle,  .  .  .  stay  but  a  moment !  " 

[Page  516 


THE 
UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 


BY 

J.  P.  MARQUAND 


WITH  A  FRONTISPIECE  BY 
A.  I.  KELLER 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
1922 


Copyright,  192.2?  .by,   ; 
Charfes'Scribrifr's  Son/- 


Printed  in  ike  United  States  of  America 


THE  UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 


THE  UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 
I 

I  HAVE  seen  the  improbable  turn  true 
too  often  not  to  have  it  disturb  me. 
Suppose  these  memoirs  still  exist  when 
the  French  royalist  plot  of  1805  and  my 
father's  peculiar  role  in  it  are  forgotten.  I 
cannot  help  but  remember  it  is  a  restless 
land  across  the  water.  But  surely  people 
will  continue  to  recollect.  Surely  these  few 
pages,  written  with  the  sole  purpose  of  ex 
plaining  my  father's  part  in  the  affair,  will 
not  degenerate  into  anything  so  pitifully 
fanciful  as  the  story  of  a  man  who  tried  his 
best  to  be  a  bad  example  because  he  could 
not  be  a  good  one. 

It  was  my  Uncle  Jason  who  was  with  me 
when  I  learned  of  my  father's  return  to 
America.  I  still  remember  the  look  of  sym 
pathetic  concern  on  his  broad,  good-natured 
face,  as  I  read  my  father's  letter.  There  was 
anxiety  written  there  as  he  watched  me,  for 
my  uncle  was  a  kindly,  thoughtful  man. 
For  the  moment  he  seemed  to  have  quite 


M37274 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

forgotten  the,  affairs  of  his  counting  house, 
and  the  inventory  of  goods  from  France, 
which  a  clerk  had  placed  before  him.  Of 
late  he  had  taken  in  me  an  unaccustomed 
interest,  in  no  wise  allayed  by  the  letter  I 
was  holding. 

"So  he  is  here,"  said  my  Uncle  Jason. 

"He  is  just  arrived,"  I  answered. 

"I  had  heard  of  it,"  he  remarked  thought 
fully.  "And  you  will  see  him,  Henry?" 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  "since  she  asked  me  to." 

"She  had  asked  you?  Your  mother?  You 
did  not  tell  me  that."  His  voice  had  been 
sharp  and  reproachful,  and  then  he  had 
sighed.  "After  all,"  he  went  on  more  gently, 
"he  is  your  father,  and  you  must  respect 
him  as  such,  Henry,  hard  as  it  is  to  do  so. 
I  am  sorry,  almost,  that  he  and  I  have 
quarreled,  for  in  many  ways  your  father  was 
a  remarkable  man  who  might  have  gone  far, 
except  for  his  failing.  God  knows  I  did  my 
best  to  help  him." 

And  he  sighed  again  at  the  small  success 
of  his  efforts  and  returned  to  the  papers  that 
lay  before  him  on  the  counting  house  table. 
His  business  had  become  engrossing  of  late, 
and  gave  him  little  leisure. 

"Do  not  be  too  hard  on  him,  Henry,"  he 
said,  as  I  departed. 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

It  was  ten  years  since  I  had  seen  my 
father,  ten  years  when  we  change  more  than 
we  do  during  the  rest  of  a  lifetime.  Ten 
years  back  we  had  lived  in  a  great  house 
with  lawns  that  ran  down  to  the  river  where 
our  ships  pulled  at  their  moorings.  My 
father  and  I  had  left  the  house  together — I 
for  school,  and  my  father — I  have  never 
learned  where  he  had  gone.  I  was  just  be 
ginning  to  see  the  starker  outlines  of  a  world 
that  has  shaken  off  the  shadows  of  youth 
when  I  saw  him  again. 

I  remember  it  was  a  morning  early  in 
autumn.  The  wind  was  fresh  off  the  sea, 
making  the  pounding  of  the  surf  on  the 
beach  seem  very  near  as  I  urged  my  horse 
from  the  neat,  quiet  streets  of  the  town  up 
the  rutted  lane  that  led  to  the  Shelton 
house.  The  tang  of  the  salt  marshes  was  in 
the  wind,  and  a  touch  of  frost  over  the 
meadows  told  me  the  ducks  would  soon  be 
coming  in  from  shelter.  Already  the  leaves 
were  falling  off  the  tall  elms,  twisting  in 
little  spirals  through  the  clear  October  sun 
light. 

And  yet,  in  spite  of  the  wind  and  the  sea 
and  the  clean  light  of  the  forenoon,  there 
was  a  sadness  about  the  place,  and  an  under 
current  of  uneasy  silence  that  the  rustling 

hi 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

of  the  leaves  and  the  noise  of  the  surf  only 
seemed  to  accentuate.  It  was  like  the  silence 
that  falls  about  a  table  when  the  guests  have 
left  it,  and  the  chairs  are  empty  and  the 
lights  are  growing  dim.  It  was  the  silence 
that  comes  over  all  places  where  there 
should  be  people,  and  yet  where  no  one 
comes. 

The  shrubbery  my  grandfather  had 
brought  from  England  was  more  wild  and 
disordered  than  when  I  had  seen  it  last. 
The  weeds  had  choked  the  formal  garden 
that  once  grew  before  the  front  door.  And 
the  house — I  had  often  pictured  that  house 
in  my  memory — with  its  great  arched  door 
way,  its  small-pan ed  windows  and  its  gam- 
brel  roof.  Once  it  had  seemed  to  me  a  mas 
sive  and  majestic  structure.  Now  those  ten 
years  had  made  it  shrink  to  a  lonely,  crum 
bling  building  that  overlooked  the  harbor 
mouth.  Clematis  had  swarmed  over  the 
bricks,  a  tangle  of  dead  and  living  vines. 
The  paint  was  chipping  from  the  doors  and 
window  ledges.  Here  and  there  a  shutter 
had  broken  loose  and  was  sagging  on  rusted 
hinges.  Houses  are  apt  to  follow  the  direc 
tion  their  owners  take. 

I  knew  I  was  being  watched,  though  I 
cannot  tell  how  I  knew  it.  Yet  I  saw  nothing 

[4] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

until  I  was  nearly  at  our  door.  I  remember 
I  was  noticing  the  green  stain  from  the 
brass  knocker  on  its  paneling,  when  my 
horse  snorted  and  stopped  dead  in  his  tracks. 
From  the  overgrown  clump  of  lilacs  that 
flanked  the  granite  stone  which  served  as 
a  door-step  something  was  glinting  in  the 
sun,  and  then  as  I  looked  more  closely,  I 
saw  a  face  peering  at  me  from  between  the 
twigs,  a  face  of  light  mahogany  with  thick 
lips  that  showed  the  presence  of  negro 
blood.  It  was  Brutus,  my  father's  half- 
caste  servant. 

Dark  and  saturnine  as  ever,  he  glided  out 
into  the  path  in  front  of  me,  thrusting  some 
thing  back  into  the  sash  around  his  waist, 
moved  toward  me,  and  took  my  horse's 
head.  His  teeth  shone  when  I  spoke  to  him, 
but  he  said  never  a  word  in  return  to  my 
greeting.  There  was  a  touch  of  Indian  in 
his  blood  that  made  his  speech  short  and 
laconic.  Nevertheless,  he  was  glad  to  see 
me.  He  grasped  my  shoulder  as  I  dis 
mounted,  and  shook  me  gently  from  side  to 
side.  His  great  form  loomed  before  me,  his 
lips  framed  in  a  cheerful  grin,  his  eyes 
appraising  and  friendly.  And  then  I  noticed 
for  the  first  time  the  livid  welt  of  a  cut 

[5] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

across  his  cheek.  Brutus  read  my  glance, 
but  he  only  shook  his  head  in  answer. 

"What  do  you  mean,  hiding  in  those 
bushes?"  I  asked  him  roughly. 

"Always  must  see  who  is  coming,"  said 
Brutus.  "Monsieur  may  not  want  to  see 
who  is  coming — you  understand" 

"No,"  I  said,  "I  don't  understand." 

His  grasp  on  my  shoulder  tightened. 

"Then  you  go  home,"  he  said,  "You  go 
home  now.  Something  happen.  Monsieur 
very  angry.  Something  bad — you  under 
stand" 

"He  is  in  the  house?"  I  asked. 

Brutus  nodded. 

"Then  take  this  horse,"  I  said,  and  swung 
open  the  front  door. 

A  draft  eddied  through  the  broad  old 
hallway  as  I  stepped  over  the  threshold, 
and  there  was  a  smell  of  wood  smoke  that 
told  me  the  chimneys  were  still  cold  from 
disuse.  Someone  had  stored  the  hall  full 
of  coils  of  rope  and  sailcloth,  but  in  the 
midst  of  it  the  same  tall  clock  was  ticking 
out  its  cycle,  and  the  portraits  of  the  Shelton 
family  still  hung  against  the  white  panels. 

The  long,  brown  rows  of  books  still  lined 
the  walls  of  the  morning  room.  The  long 
mahogany  table  in  the  center  was  still  lit- 

[6] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

tered  with  maps  and  papers.  There  were 
the  same  rusted  muskets  and  small  swords 
in  the  rack  by  the  fireplace,  and  in  front 
of  the  fire  in  a  great,  high-backed  armchair 
my  father  was  sitting.  I  paused  with  a 
curious  feeling  of  doubt,  surprise  and  diffi 
dence.  Somehow  I  had  pictured  a  different 
meeting  and  a  different  man.  He  must 
surely  have  heard  my  step  and  the  jingling  of 
my  spurs  as  I  crossed  the  room,  but  he 
never  so  much  as  raised  his  head.  He  still 
rested,  leaning  indolently  back,  watching 
the  flames  dance  up  the  chimney.  He  was 
dressed  in  gray  satin  small  clothes  that  went 
well  with  his  slender  figure.  His  wig  was 
fresh  powdered,  and  his  throat  and  wrists 
were  framed  in  spotless  lace.  The  care  of 
his  person  was  almost  the  only  tribute  he 
paid  to  his  past. 

I  must  have  stood  for  twenty  seconds 
watching  him  while  he  watched  the  fire, 
before  he  turned  and  faced  me,  and  when 
he  did  I  had  forgotten  the  words  I  had 
framed  to  greet  him.  I  knew  he  was  pre 
paring  to  meet  a  hard  ordeal.  He  knew  as 
well  as  I  there  was  no  reason  why  I  should 
be  glad  to  see  him.  Yet  he  showed  never  a 
trace  of  uncertainty.  His  eye  never  wavered. 
His  lips  were  drawn  in  the  same  supercilious 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

upward  curve  that  gave  him  the  expression 
I  most  often  remembered.  Ten  years  had 
not  done  much  to  change  him.  The  pallor 
I  had  remembered  on  his  features  had  been 
burned  off  by  a  tropical  sun.  That  was  all. 
There  was  hardly  a  wrinkle  about  his  eyes, 
hardly  a  tell-tale  crease  in  his  high  forehead. 
Wherever  he  had  been,  whatever  he  had 
done,  his  serenity  was  still  unshaken.  It 
still  lay  over  him,  placid  and  impenetrable. 
And  when  he  spoke,  his  voice  was  cool  and 
impassive  and  cast  in  pleasant  modulation. 

"So  you  are  here,"  he  remarked,  as 
though  he  were  weighing  each  word  care 
fully,  "and  why  did  you  come?  I  think  I 
told  you  in  my  letter  there  was  no  need 
unless  you  wished." 

There  was  something  cold  and  unfriendly 
in  his  speech.  I  tried  in  vain  to  fight  down 
a  rising  feeling  of  antagonism,  a  vague  sense 
of  disappointment.  For  a  moment  we 
glanced  at  each  other  coldly. 

"I  think,  sir,"  I  answered,  "from  a  sense 
of  curiosity." 

Almost  as  soon  as  I  had  spoken,  I  was 
sorry,  for  some  sixth  sense  told  me  I  had 
hurt  him.  With  a  lithe,  effortless  grace  he 
rose  from  his  chair  and  faced  me,  and  his 

[8] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

smile,  half  amused,  half  tolerant,  curved 
his  lips  again. 

"I  should  have  known  you  would  be 
frank,"  he  said,  "Your  letter,  my  son, 
refusing  to  accept  my  remittances,  should 
have  taught  me  as  much,  but  we  grow  for 
getful  as  our  feet  weary  of  the  path  of  life." 

Yet  I  remember  thinking  that  few  people 
looked  less  weary  than  my  father  as  he 
stood  there  watching  me.  The  primroses, 
it  seemed,  had  afforded  pleasant  footing. 

I  believe  he  read  my  thoughts,  for  it 
seemed  to  me  that  for  an  instant  genuine 
amusement  was  written  in  his  glance,  but 
there  were  few  genuine  emotions  he  allowed 
free  play. 

"Perhaps,"  he  suggested  pleasantly,  "it 
it  would  interest  you  to  know  why  I  have 
returned  to  these  rather  rigorous  and  uncon 
genial  surroundings.  If  not,  I  beg  you  to 
be  frank  again,  Henry.  There's  nothing 
that  I  dread  more  than  being  stupid." 

"Sir,"  I  objected,  "I   told  you  I  was 


curious-" 


e  be  sure  you  did,"  he  admitted. 
"Can  it  be  possible  that  I  am  becoming 
absent-minded?  Henry,  I  am  going  to  tell 
you  something  very  flattering.  Can  you 
believe  it?  It  is  largely  on  your  account  that 

[9] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

I  consented  to  revisit  these  familiar  scenes!" 

"No,"  I  said,  "I  cannot,  sir,  since  you 
ask  me." 

My  father  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Far  be  it  from  me  to  overstrain  your 
credulity,  my  son,"  he  observed  blandly. 
"Let  us  admit  then  there  was  also  some 
slight  factor  of  expedience — but  slight, 
Henry,  almost  negligible,  in  fact.  It  hap 
pened  that  I  was  in  a  French  port,  and  that 
while  there  I  should  think  of  you." 

"Sir,"  I  said,  "You  startle  me!" 

But  he  continued,  regardless  of  my  inter 
ruption. 

"And  what  should  be  there  also,  but  the 
Eclipse,  ready  to  set  for  home!  Quite  sud 
denly  I  determined  to  sail  her  back.  I, 
too,  was  curious,  my  son."  For  a  moment 
his  voice  lost  its  bantering  note.  "  Curious," 
he  continued  gravely,  "to  know  whether 
you  were  a  man  like  me,  or  one  of  whom  I 
might  have  reason  to  be  proud.  .  .  . 
So  here  we  are,  Henry.  Who  said  coinci 
dence  was  the  exception  and  not  the  rule?" 

His  last  words  drifted  gently  away,  and 
in  their  wake  followed  an  awkward  silence. 
The  logs  were  hissing  in  the  fire.  I  could 
hear  the  clock  in  the  hall  outside,  and  the 
beating  of  the  vines  against  the  window 

[10] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

panes.  It  was  no  sound,  certainly,  that 
made  me  whirl  around  to  look  behind  me, — 
some  instinct — that  was  all.  There  was 
Brutus,  not  two  feet  from  my  back,  with 
my  father's  cloak  over  his  right  arm,  and 
my  father's  sword  held  in  his  great  fist. 

"Do  not  disturb  yourself,  Brutus,"  said 
my  father.  "We  are  both  gentlemen,  more 
or  less,  and  will  not  come  to  blows.  My 
cloak,  Brutus.  I  am  sorry,  my  son,  that 
we  must  wait  till  later  in  the  day  to  exchange 
ideas.  Even  here  in  America  affairs  seem 
to  follow  me.  Will  you  content  yourself 
till  evening?  There  are  horses  in  the  stable 
and  liquors  in  the  cellar.  Choose  all  or 
either,  Henry.  Personally,  I  find  them 
both  amusing." 

He  stood  motionless,  however,  even  when 
his  dark  cloak  was  adjusted  to  his  shoulders, 
as  though  some  matters  were  disturbing 
him;  and  then  he  tapped  his  sword  hilt  with 
a  precise,  even  motion  of  his  fingers. 

"Brutus,"  he  said  slowly,  "I  shall  take 
my  pistols  also." 

"Your  pistols!"  I  echoed.  ^You  have 
forgotten  you  are  back  in  America." 

He  half  turned  toward  me,  and  favored 
me  with  a  serene,  incurious  glance. 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"On  the  contrary/'  he  said,  "I  am  just 
beginning  to  remember." 

And  so  without  further  words  he  left  me. 
I  followed  him  through  our  rear  doorway, 
out  over  the  crumbling  bricks  of  our  terrace, 
which  had  been  built  to  overlook  the  river, 
and  watched  him  walk  slowly  and  thought 
fully  down  the  path  with  its  border  of  elm 
trees,  to  his  warehouses,  where  a  half 
dozen  men  had  already  started  work. 

The  river  was  dark  blue  under  a  cloudless 
sky.  The  sunlight  was  playing  in  restless 
sparkles  where  the  wind  ruffled  the  water's 
surface.  Out  near  the  channel  I  could  see 
the  Eclipse  riding  at  anchor,  her  decks 
littered  with  bales  and  gear,  and  the  Sun 
Maid  and  the  Sea  Terny  trim  and  neat, 
and  down  deep  in  the  water  as  though  ready 
to  put  to  sea.  At  the  head  of  our  wharf 
were  bales  and  boxes  stacked  in  the  odd 
confusion  that  comes  of  a  hasty  discharge  of 
cargo. 

On  the  terrace  where  I  was  standing  I 
could  see  the  other  wharves  along  the 
waterfront,  and  the  church  spires  and  roofs 
of  the  town  reared  among  the  trees  that 
lined  the  busy  streets.  Toward  the  sand 
dunes  the  marshes  stretched  away  in  russet 
gold  into  the  autumn  haze.  The  woods 

[12] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

across  the  river  were  bright  patches  of  reds 
and  yellows,  pleasant  and  inviting  in  the 
sunlight. 

But  I  saw  it  all  with  only  half  an  eye. 
I  was  still  thinking  of  the  dark  hall  behind 
me,  and  the  cold,  unwelcome  stillness  of 
the  shuttered  rooms.  I  could  understand 
his  depression,  now  that  he  had  come  back 
to  it.  But  there  was  something  else.  .  .  . 
I  was  still  thinking  of  it  when  I  looked  at 
the  Eclipse  again.  It  would  have  been 
hard  to  find  a  craft  of  more  delicate,  graceful 
lines.  They  often  said  he  had  a  flair  for 
ships  and  women.  A  shifting  current,  some 
freak  of  the  wind  and  tide,  was  making  her 
twist  and  pull  at  her  anchor,  and  for  a 
moment  the  sun  struck  clean  on  her  broad 
side.  A  gaping  hole  between  decks  had 
connected  two  of  her  ports  in  a  jagged  rent. 

It  was  not  surprising.  My  father's  ships 
were  often  fired  on  at  sea.  Nor  was  it 
strange  that  Brutus  had  a  half-healed  scar 
on  his  cheek.  But  why  had  my  father  gone 
armed  to  his  own  wharf?  Perhaps  I  might 
have  forgotten  if  I  had  not  visited  the 
stables. 

Our  carriage  harness  still  hung  from  the 
pegs,  dried  and  twisted  by  the  years,  and 
minus  its  silver  trimmings.  The  sunlight 

[13] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

filtered  through  cracks  in  the  roof,  and 
danced  through  the  dust  mites  to  the  rows 
of  vacant  stalls.  Near  the  door  my  horse 
was  feeding  comfortably,  and  beside  him 
stood  two  bays  that  shone  from  careful 
grooming.  One  was  carrying  a  saddle  with 
a  pair  of  pistols  in  the  pocket.  Yet  not  a  hair 
had  been  turned  from  riding. 


II 

I  rode  through  town  that  afternoon,  and 
it  was  not  entirely  because  time  hung 
heavily  on  my  hands.  We  were  proud  of  our 
town.  The  houses  were  as  elegant  and 
substantial  as  any  you  could  find.  Our 
streets  were  broad  and  even.  Our  walks 
were  paved  with  brick.  There  was  not  a 
finer  tavern  than  ours  to  the  north  of 
Boston,  or  better  dressed  men  frequenting 
it.  Men  said  in  those  days  that  we  would  be 
a  great  seaport;  that  the  world  would  look 
more  and  more  to  that  northern  Massa 
chusetts  river  mouth.  They  had  spoken 
thus  of  many  other  harbor  towns  in  the 
centuries  that  men  have  gone  down  to  the 
sea.  I  think  they  have  been  wrong  almost 
as  often  as  they  had  predicted.  The  ships 
have  ceased  to  sail  over  the  bar.  No  one 
heeds  the  rotting  planking  of  the  wharves. 
The  clang  of  hammers  and  the  sailors' 
songs  have  gone,  and  trade  and  gain  and 
venture  have  gone  with  them. 

Strange,  as  I  recall  that  afternoon.  They 
were  building  a  new  L  to  the  tavern. 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

Tradespeople  were  busy  about  their  shops. 
Coaches  newly  painted,  and  'drawn  oy 
well-matched  horses,  rolled  by  me.  Gen 
tlemen  in  bright  new  coats,  servants  in  new 
family  livery,  sailors  from  the  docks,  clerks 
from  the  counting  houses,  all  gave  the  street 
a  busy  air — lent  it  a  pleasant  assurance  of 
affluence. 

I  was  mistaken  when  I  thought  I  could 
ride  by  as  a  stranger  might.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  there  was  no  one  too  busy  to  stop 
and  look,  to  turn  and  whisper  a  word  to 
someone  else.  They  had  learned  already 
that  I  was  my  father's  son.  I  could  feel  a 
hot  flame  of  anger  burning  my  cheeks,  the 
old,  stinging  passion  of  resentment  I  had 
felt  so  often  when  my  father's  name  was 
mentioned.  They  knew  me.  Their  looks 
alone  told  that,  but  never  a  nod,  or  smile 
of  greeting,  marked  my  return. 

Though  I  had  never  spoken  to  them,  I 
knew  them  all — the  Penfields,  father  and 
son,  tall  and  lean  with  bony  faces  and 
sandy  hair  and  eyebrows,  and  restless,  pale 
blue  eyes — Squire  Land,  small  and  ascetic, 
his  lips  constantly  puckered  as  though  he 
had  tasted  something  unpleasant.  Captain 
Proctor,  stouter  than  when  I  had  seen  him 
last,  with  the  benign  good  nature  that  comes 

[16] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

of  settled  affairs  and  good  living.  Over 
them  and  over  the  town,  those  eight  years 
had  passed  with  a  light  hand. 

But  it  was  not  our  town  I  had  come  to 
visit.  I  found  Ned  Aiken,  as  I  knew  I 
should,  with  the  Eclipse  in  harbor.  He  was 
seated  on  his  door  step  by  the  river  road, 
as  though  he  had  always  been  planted  in 
that  very  place.  I  remember  expecting  he 
would  be  glad  to  see  me.  Instead,  he  took 
his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  and  gazed  at  me 
steadily,  like  some  steer  stopped  from  graz 
ing.  Then  he  placed  his  pipe  on  the  stone 
step,  and  rose  slowly  to  his  feet,  squat  and 
burly,  his  little  eyes  glinting  below  his 
greasy,  unbraided  hair,  his  jaw  protruding 
and  ominous.  Slowly  he  loosened  the  dirty 
red  handkerchief  he  kept  swathed  about 
his  throat,  and  raised  a  stubby  hand  to  push 
the  hair  from  his  heavy  forehead.  Then  his 
face  relaxed  into  a  grim  smile,  and  he  seated 
himself  on  the  step  again. 

"You've  changed  since  last  I  saw  you," 
he  said;  "changed  remarkable,  you  have. 
Why,  right  now  I  thought  you  might  be 
someone  else." 

Had  Brutus  also  been  laboring  under  the 
same  delusion? 

I  told  him  I  was  glad  we  were  still  on 

[17] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

speaking  terms,  and  seated  myself  beside 
him.  He  studied  me  for  a  while  in  silence, 
leisurely  puffing  at  his  pipe. 

"You  mistook  me  for  someone?"  I  asked 
finally. 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Aiken,  and  slapped  his 
pipe  against  the  palm  of  his  hand.  "  You've 
been  shootin'  up,  you  have,  since  I  set  eyes 


on  you." 


He  paused,  seemingly  struck  by  a  genial 
inspiration. 

"Yes,  shootin'  up."  Still  looking  at  me 
he  gave  way  to  a  hoarse  chuckle. 

"Why,  boy,  we've  all  been  doing  some 
shootin' — you,  your  dad,  and  me  too — 
since  we  seen  you  last,"  and  he  was  taken 
by  a  paroxysm  of  silent  mirth. 

"Now  that's  what  I  call  wit!"  he  gasped 
complacently,  and  then  he  repeated  in 
joyous  encore: 

"You   shootin' — me   shootin' — he  shoot- 


in'." 


"You  weren't  shooting  at  anybody?"  I 
asked  with  casual  innocence. 

"And  why  shouldn't  we  be,  I  want  to 
know?"  he  demanded,  but  his  tongue 
showed  no  sign  of  slipping.  His  glance  had 
resumed  its  old  stolid  watchfulness,  which 
caused  me  to  remain  tactfully  silent. 

[18] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"But  we  wasn't  shootin*  at  anybody," 
Mr.  Aiken  concluded,  more  genially.  "Not 
at  anybody,  just  at  selected  folks." 

He  stopped  to  glance  serenely  about  him, 
and  somehow  the  dusty  road,  the  river,  the 
trees  and  the  soft  sunlight  seemed  to  make 
him  strangely  confiding.  His  harsh  voice 
lowered  in  gentle  patronage. 

"Would  you  like  to  know  who  those 
folks  were?"  he  asked  finally. 

I  must  have  been  too  eager  in  giving  my 
assent,  for  Mr.  Aiken  smiled  broadly  and 
nodded  his  head  with  complacent  satisfac 
tion. 

"  I  thought  you  would  admire  to,"  said 
Mr.  Aiken;  "like  as  not  you'd  give  a  tooth 
to  know,  now  wouldn't  you?  Never  do 
know  a  tooth  is  useful  till  you  lose  it.  Now 
look  at  me — I've  had  as  many  as  six  stove 
out  off  an'  on,  and  now — But  you  wanted  to 
know  who  it  was  we  shot  at,  didn't  you? 
So  you  did,  boy,  so  you  did.  Well,  I'll  tell 
you,  so  I  will.  Yes,  so  help  me  if  I  don't 
tell  you,  boy."  And  his  voice  trailed  off 
in  a  low  chuckle. 

"It  was  folks  like  you,"  he  concluded 
crisply;  "folks  who  didn't  mind  their  own 
business." 

Gleefully  he  repeated  the  sentence.    Its 

1 19 1 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

ringing  cadence  and  the  trend  of  his  whole 
discourse  gave  him  evident  pleasure,  and 
even  caused  him  to  continue  further  with 
his  rebuke. 

"There  you  have  it,"  said  Mr.  Aiken, 
"the  Captain's  own  words,  b'Gad.  'Mr. 
Aiken',  he  says,  'I  fancy  we  may  meet  a 
number  of  people  whose  affairs  will  not  stop 
them  interfering  with  our  own.  If  you  see 
any,'  he  says,  'shoot  them,  Mr.  Aiken'." 

He  had  lapsed  into  a  good-natured, 
reminiscent  mood,  and,  as  he  fixed  his  gaze 
on  the  trees  across  the  road,  he  was  prompt 
ed  to  enlarge  still  further  on  the  episode. 
He  seemed  to  have  forgotten  I  was  there 
as  he  continued. 

"I  wish  it  had  been  on  deck,"  he  re 
marked,  "instead  of  a  place  with  damned 
gold  chairs  and  gold  on  the  ceiling,  and  cloth 
on  the  walls,  and  velvets  such  as  respectable 
folks  use  for  dress  and  not  for  ornament, 
and  candles  in  gold  sticks,  and  the  floor  like 
a  sheet  of  ice. 

"Hell,"  said  Mr.  Aiken.  "I'd  sooner  slip 
on  blood  than  on  a  floor  like  that.  Yes,  so 
I  would.  I  wonder  why  those  frog  eaters 
don't  make  their  houses  snug  and  decent 
instead  of  big  as  a  church.  Now,  though 
I'm  not  a  moral  man,  yet  I  call  it  immoral, 

[20] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

damned  if  I  don't,  to  live  in  a  house  like 
that." 

"Yet  somehow  pleasant/'  I  ventured 
politely,  "surely  you  have  found  that  the 
beauty  of  most  immoral  things.  They  all 
seem  to  be  pleasant.  Am  I  not  right,  Mr. 
Aiken?" 

He  looked  at  me  sharply,  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  and  denied  me  the  pleasure  of 
an  answer. 

"Not  that  I  meant  to  puzzle  you,"  I 
added  hastily,  "but  you  have  sailed  so  long 
with  my  father,  that  I  considered  you  in  a 
position  to  know.  Now  in  France " 

Mr.  Aiken  dropped  his  pipe. 

"Who  said  anything  about  France?"  he 
demanded. 

"And  did  you  not?"  I  asked,  beginning 
to  enjoy  my  visit.  "  Surely  you  were  speak 
ing  just  now  about  a  chateau,  the  scene  of 
some  pleasant  adventure.  Pray  don't  let 
me  interrupt  you." 

A  bead  of  perspiration  rolled  down  Mr. 
Aiken's  brow,  and  he  tightened  his  handker 
chief  about  his  throat,  as  though  to  stifle 
further  conversation.  He  sat  silent  for  a 
minute  while  his  mind  seemed  to  wander  off 
into  a  maze  of  dim  recollections,  and  his 

[21] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

eyes  half-closed,  the  better  to  see  the  pic 
tures  that  drifted  through  his  memory. 

"What  am  I  here  ashore  and  sober  for/' 
he  asked  finally,  "so  I  won't  talk,  that's 
why,  and  I  won't  talk,  so  there's  the  end 
of  it.  It's  just  that  I  have  to  have  my  little 
joke,  that's  all,  or  I  wouldn't  have  said 
anything  about  the  chato  or  the  Captain 
either. 

"Though,  if  I  do  say  it,"  he  added  in  final 
justification,  "there  ain't  many  seafaring 
men  who  have  a  chance  to  sail  along  of  a 
man  like  him." 

"And  how  does  that  happen?"  I  asked. 

"Because  there  ain't  any  more  like  him 
to  sail  with." 

He  sat  watching  me,  and  the  gap  between 
us  seemed  to  widen.  He  seemed  to  be  look 
ing  at  me  from  some  great  distance,  from  the 
end  of  the  road  where  years  and  experience 
had  led  him,  full  of  thoughts  he  could  never 
express,  even  if  the  desire  impelled  him. 

"No,  not  any,"  said  Mr.  Aiken. 

The  dusk  was  beginning  to  gather  when 
I  rode  home,  the  heavy  purple  dusk  of 
autumn,  full  of  the  crisp  smell  of  dead 
leaves  and  the  low  hanging  wood  smoke 
from  the  chimneys. 

My  father  was  reading  Voltaire  beside  a 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

briskly  burning  fire.  Closing  his  book  on  his 
forefinger,  he  waved  me  to  a  chair  beside 
him. 

"My  son/'  he  said,  "they  mix  better 
than  you  think,  Voltaire  and  gunpowder. 
Have  you  not  found  it  so?" 

"I  fear,"  I  replied,  "that  my  experience 
has  been  too  limited.  Give  me  time,  sir, 
I  have  only  been  twice  to  sea.  Next  time 
I  shall  remember  to  take  Voltaire  with  me/' 

"Do,"  he  advised  courteously;  "you  will 
find  it  will  help  with  the  privateers — tide 
you  over  every  little  unpleasantness.  Ah 
yes,  it  is  advice  worth  following.  I  learned 
it  long  ago — a  little  difference  of  opinion — 
and  the  pages  of  the  great  philosopher " 

He  raised  his  arm  and  glanced  at  it 
critically. 

"Words  well  placed — is  it  not  wonderful, 
their  steadying  effect — the  deadly  accuracy 
which  their  logic  seems  to  impart  to  the 
hand  and  eye?  A  man  can  be  dangerous 
indeed  with  twenty  pages  of  Voltaire  behind 
him." 

He  took  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  leaned 
forward  to  tap  me  gently  on  the  knee,  his 
expression  coldly  genial. 

"I  have  read  all  the  works  of  Voltaire, 
Henry,  read  them  many  times." 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

Unbidden,  a  picture  of  him  came  before 
me  in  a  room  with  gilt  chairs  and  candelabra 
whose  glass  pendants  sparkled  in  the  mild 
yellow  light — with  a  smell  of  powder  ming 
ling  strangely  with  the  scent  of  flowers. 

"But  why,"  he  concluded,  "should  I  be 
more  explicit  than  Mr.  Aiken?  To  fear 
nothing,  say  nothing.  It  is  a  maxim  fol 
lowed  by  so  many  politicians.  Strange  that 
it  still  stays  valuable.  Strange " 

And  he  waved  his  hand  in  a  negligent 
gesture  of  deprecation. 

"Why,  indeed,  be  more  explicit,"  I  re 
joined.  "Your  sudden  interest  is  quite 
enough  to  leave  me  overcome,  sir,  when, 
after  years  of  neglect,  you  see  to  it  I  ride  out 
safely  of  an  afternoon." 

He  tapped  his  snufF  box  thoughtfully. 

"Coincidence  again,  Henry,  that  is  all. 
How  was  I  to  know  you  would  be  outside 
Ned  Aiken's  house  while  I  was  within?" 

"And  how  should  I  know  that  paternal 
care  would  prompt  you  to  remain  within 
while  I  was  without?" 

For  a  second  it  seemed  to  me  that  my 
father  was  going  to  laugh — for  a  fraction 
of  a  second  something  like  astonishment 
seemed  to  take  possession  of  him.  Then 
Brutus  appeared  in  the  doorway. 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"My  son,"  he  said,  as  I  followed  him  to 
supper,  "I  must  compliment  you.  Posi 
tively  you  improve  upon  acquaintance." 


Ill 

I  had  remembered  him  as  a  man  who  dis 
liked  talk.  I  had  often  seen  him  sit  for 
hours  on  end  without  a  word,  looking  at 
nothing  in  particular,  with  his  expression 
less  serenity.  But  on  this  particular  evening 
the  day's  activities  appeared  to  have  made 
his  social  instincts  vividly  assertive,  and 
to  arouse  him  to  unusual,  and  almost  un 
natural  animation.  As  we  sat  at  a  small 
round  table  beside  the  dining  room  fireplace, 
he  launched  into  a  cheerful  discourse,  ig 
noring  completely  any  displeasure  I  at 
tempted  to  assume.  The  great  room  with 
its  dingy  wainscot  only  half  lighted  by  the 
candles  on  the  table  before  us,  was  clut 
tered  with  a  hundred  odds  and  ends  that 
collect  in  a  deserted  house — a  ladder,  a  stiff, 
rusted  bridle,  a  coil  of  frayed  rope,  a  kettle, 
a  dozen  sheets  of  the  Gazette,  empty 
bottles,  dusty  crockery  and  broken  chairs. 
He  surveyed  them  all  with  a  bland,  un 
critical  glance.  From  his  manner  he  might 
have  been  surrounded  by  brilliant  company. 
From  his  conversation  he  might  have  been 
in  a  pot  house. 

[26] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

I  noticed  at  once  what  many  had  been 
at  pains  to  mention  to  me  before — that  my 
father  was  not  a  temperate  man.  Nor  did 
our  cellar  seem  wholly  bleak.  He  pressed 
wine  upon  me,  and  soon  had  finished  a 
bottle  himself,  only  to  gesture  Brutus  to 
uncork  a  second.  And  all  the  while  he 
regaled  me  with  anecdotes  of  the  gaming 
table  and  the  vices  of  a  dozen  seaports. 
With  hardly  a  pause  he  described  a  lurid 
succession  of  drinking  bouts  and  gallant 
adventures.  He  finished  a  second  bottle  of 
wine,  and  was  half  way  through  a  third. 
Yet  all  the  while  his  voice  never  lost  its 
pleasant  modulation.  Never  a  flush  or  an 
increase  of  animation  came  to  change  him. 
Politely  detached,  he  discoursed  of  love  and 
murder,  gambling  and  chicanery,  drawing 
on  the  seemingly  exhaustless  background 
of  his  own  experience  for  illustration.  He 
seemed  to  have  known  the  worst  men  from 
all  the  ends  of  the  earth,  to  have  shared  in 
their  business  and  their  pleasures.  He 
seemed  to  have  been  in  every  discreditable 
undertaking  that  came  beneath  his  notice. 
In  retrospect  they  pleased  him — all  and 
every  one. 

What  he  saw  when  he  glanced  at  me 
appeared  to  please  him  also.  At  any  rate, 

[27] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

it  gave  him  the  encouragement  that  one 
usually  receives  from  an  attentive  listener. 

"Brutus,  again  a  bottle.  It  is  at  the 
fourth  bottle,"  he  explained,  "that  I  am 
at  my  best.  It  is  the  fourth  bottle,  or  per 
haps  the  fifth,  that  seems  to  free  me  from 
the  restraints  that  old  habits  and  early 
education  have  wound  about  me.  In  vino 
veritas,  my  son,  but  the  truth  must  be 
measured  in  quarts  for  each  individual. 
Some  men  I  know  might  be  drowned  in 
wine  and  still  be  hypocrites,  so  solidly  are 
their  heads  placed  upon  their  shoulders. 
But  my  demands  are  modest,  my  son,  just 
as  modest  as  I  am  a  modest  sinner." 

He  called  to  Brutus  to  toss  more  wood 
upon  the  fire,  leaned  back  for  a  while, 
holding  his  glass  to  the  light  of  the  flames, 
and  turned  to  me  again  with  his  cool,  per 
functory  smile. 

"Strange,  is  it  not,  that  men  through  all 
the  ages  have  sought  fools  and  charlatans 
to  tell  their  fortunes,  when  a  little  wine  is 
clearer  than  the  most  mystic  ball  of  crystal. 
Before  the  bottle  the  priests  of  Egypt  and 
the  Delphic  oracle  seem  as  faint,  my  son,  as 
the  echoes  in  a  snail  shell.  Palmistry  and 
astrology — let  us  fling  them  into  the  whirl 
pool  of  vanity !  But  give  a  man  wine  enough, 

[28] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

and  any  observer  can  tell  his  possibilities. 
A  touch  of  it — and  where  are  the  barriers 
with  which  he  has  surrounded  himself? 
Another  drop,  and  how  futile  are  all  the 
deceptions  which  he  is  wont  to  practice 
upon  others!  In  St.  Kitts  once  I  drank  wine 
with  a  most  respectable  merchant,  a  man 
who  carried  the  Bible  beside  his  snuff  box, 
and  referred  to  both  almost  as  frequently 
as  he  did  to  the  profit  and  balance  on  his 
ledger.  And  would  you  believe  it?  The 
next  time  he  met  me,  he  blamed  me  for 
the  loss  of  many  thousands  of  pounds.  He 
even  laid  at  my  door  certain  reprehensible 
indiscretions  of  his  wife,  though  I  could 
have  told  him  that  night  over  the  glasses 
that  both  were  inevitable  long  before  either 
occurred. 

"But  pray  do  not  look  at  me  so  blankly, 
my  son.  It  was  not  clairvoyance  on  my 
part — merely  simple  reasoning,  aided  by 
very  excellent  and  very  heady  Madeira. 
How  true  it  is  that  there  is  truth  in  wine — 
and  money  too,  if  the  grape  is  used  to  the 
proper  advantage. 

"Again — some  men  talk  of  fortune  at 
cards,  good  luck  or  bad,  but  as  for  me, 
I  can  tell  how  the  luck  will  run  by  the  num 
ber  of  bottles  that  are  placed  beside  the 

[29] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

table.  A  little  judgment,  and  the  crudest 
reasoning — that  is  all.  But  doubtless  mutual 
friends  have  already  hinted  to  you  of  my 
propensities  at  cards — and  other  things. 
Is  it  not  so,  my  son?" 

Was  it  the  gentle  inflection  of  the  ques 
tion,  or  his  intent  glance  that  made  me  feel, 
as  I  had  felt  before  that  day,  that  I  was 
face  to  face  with  an  alert  antagonist?  He 
called  on  me  to  speak,  and  I  was  loth  to 
break  my  silence.  If  he  had  only  left  me 
to  my  own  bitter  thoughts, — but  why 
should  I  have  expected  him  to  be  tactful? 
Why  should  I  have  expected  him  to  be 
different  from  the  gossip  that  clouded  his 
name? 

"Your  card  playing  is  still  remembered, 
sir,"  I  told  him.  "I  have  heard  of  it  two 
months  back." 

Deliberately  he  pushed  one  of  the  candles 
aside,  so  that  the  light  should  stand  less 
between  us,  poured  himself  another  glass 
of  wine,  and  flicked  the  dust  from  the  bottle 
off  his  sleeve. 

"Indeed?"  was  his  comment.  "Your 
memory  does  you  credit,  even  though 
youthful  impressions  are  apt  to  lodge  fast. 
Or  shall  I  say  it  is  only  another  proof  of 
the  veracity  of  my  man  of  business?  Two 

[30] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

months  ago,  at  a  certain  little  gathering, 
someone,  whose  name  I  have  yet  to  dis 
cover,  informed  you  of  certain  bad  habits 
I  had  contracted  in  games  of  chance. 
I  remember  being  interested  at  the  time 
that  my  reputation  lasted  so  well  in  my 
absence.  But  I  beg  you — let  me  confirm 
the  report  still  further.  Am  I  mistaken  in 
believing  you  made  some  apt  retort?" 

"Sir,"  I  said  in  a  voice  that  sounded 
strangely  discordant,  "I  told  him  he  lied." 

"Ha!"  said  my  father,  and  for  a  moment 
I  thought  he  was  going  to  commend  my 
act,  but  instead  his  eyes  moved  to  the 
table. 

"Brutus,"  he  continued,  "is  my  mind 
becoming  cloudy,  or  is  it  true  the  wine  is 
running  low  ?  Open  another  bottle,  Brutus." 

There  was  a  silence  while  he  raised  his 
glass  to  his  lips. 

"And  am  I  right,"  he  asked,  "in  recalling 
that  you  allowed  yourself  the  liberty — of 
punctuating  that  comment?" 

"You  have  been  well  informed,  sir,"  I 
answered.  "I  struck  him  in  the  face." 

He  waved  a  hand  to  me  in  a  pleasant  ges 
ture  of  acknowledgment,  and  half  turned  in 
his  chair,  the  better  to  speak  over  his 
shoulder. 

[31] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"Did  I  hear  aright,  Brutus?"  he  in 
quired.  "There's  faith  for  you  and  loyalty! 
He  called  the  boy  a  liar  who  called  me  a 
cheat  at  cards!  Ah,  those  illusions  of  youth! 
Ah  for  that  sweet  mirage  that  used  to  glitter 
in  the  sky  overhead!  It's  only  the  wine 
that  brings  it  back  today — called  him  a 
liar,  Brutus,  and  gave  him  the  blow!" 

"  But  pardon,"  he  went  on.  His  voice  was 
still  grave  and  slow,  though  his  lips  were 
bent  in  a  bitter  little  smile.  His  face  had 
reddened,  and  it  was  the  wine,  I  think,  that 
made  his  eyes  dance  in  the  candle  light. 
"Overlook,  I  beg,  the  rudeness  of  my 
interruption.  The  exceptional  in  your  nar 
rative  quite  intrigues  me,  my  son.  Doubt 
less  your  impulsive  action  led  to  the  con 
ventional  result?" 

There  he  sat,  amusedly  examining  me, 
smiling  at  my  rising  temper.  My  reply 
shaped  itself  almost  without  my  volition. 

"Excuse  me,  sir,"  I  retorted,  "if  I  say  the 
result  was  more  natural  than  your  action 
upon  a  greater  provocation." 

"Had  it  ever  occurred  to  you,  my  son, 
'that  perhaps  my  self-control  was  greater 
also  ?  Let  us  call  it  so,  at  any  rate,  and  go  on 
with  our  adventure." 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"As  you  will,  sir,"  I  said.  "We  all  make 
our  mistakes/' 

He  raised  his  eyebrows  in  polite  surprise, 
and  his  hand  in  a  gesture  of  protest. 

"Our  mistakes?  Was  I  not  right  in  be 
lieving  you  had  a  competent  instructor? 
I  begin  to  fear  your  education  is  deficient. 
Surely  you  have  agility  and  courage.  Why 
a  mistake,  my  son?" 

"The  mistake,"  I  replied,  "was  in  the 
beginning  and  not  in  the  end.  I  made  the 
error  in  believing  he  told  an  untruth." 

"Indeed?"  said  my  father.  "Thank  you, 
Brutus,  I  have  had  wine  enough  for  the 
evening.  Do  you  not  consider  your  error — 
how  shall  we  put  it — quite  inexcusable  in 
view  of  the  other  things  you  have  doubtless 
heard?" 

But  I  could  only  stare  dumbly  at  him 
across  the  table. 

"Come,  come,"  he  continued.  "How 
goes  the  gossip  now?  Surely  there  is  more 
about  me.  Surely  you  have  heard" — 
he  paused  to  drain  the  dregs  in  his  glass — 
"the  rest?;' 

I  eyed  him  for  a  moment  in  silence  before 
I  answered,  but  he  met  my  glance  fairly, 
indulging  apparently  in  the  same  curiosity, 
half  idle,  half  cynical,  that  he  might  have 

[33] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

displayed  before  some  episode  of  the  theatre. 
It  was  a  useless  question  that  he  asked.  He 
knew  too  well  that  the  answer  was  obvious. 

"Yes,"  I  said3>  "I  have  heard  it." 

"So,"  he  exclaimed  cheerfully,  "my  repu 
tation  still  continues.  Wonderful,  is  it  not, 
how  durable  a  bad  reputation  is,  and  how 
fragile  a  good  one.  One  bounds  back  like  a 
rubber  ball.  The  other  shatters  like  a  lustre 
punch  bowl.  And  did  the  same  young 
man — I  presume  he  was  young — enlighten 
you  about  this,  the  most  fatal  parental 
weakness?" 

"No,"  I  said,  "I  learned  of  it  later." 

He  raised  his  hand  and  began  gently 
stroking  his  coat  lapel,  his  fingers  quickly 
crossing  it  in  a  vain  search  for  some  imagi 
nary  wrinkle,  moving  back  and  forth  with 
a  steady  persistence,  while  he  watched  me, 
still  amused,  still  indifferent. 

"And  might  I  ask  who  told  you?"  he 
inquired. 

"Your  brother-in-law,"  I  replied,  "My 
Uncle  Jason." 

"Dieu!"  cried  my  father,  "but  I  grow 
careless." 

He  was  looking  ruefully  at  his  lapel. 
Somehow  the  threads  had  given  way,  and 
there  was  a  rent  in  the  gray  satin. 

[34] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"Another  coat  ruined,"  he  observed, 
and  the  raillery  was  gone  from  his  voice. 
"How  fortunate  it  is  that  the  evening  is 
well  along,  and  bed  time  is  nearly  here. 
One  coat  torn  in  the  brambles,  and  one  with 
a  knife,  and  now — But  your  uncle  was 
right,  quite  right  in  telling  you.  Indeed, 
I  should  have  done  the  same  myself.  The 
truth  first,  my  son.  Always  remember 
that." 

And  he  turned  again  to  his  coat. 

"I  told  him  I  did  not  believe  it,"  I  ven 
tured,  but  the  appeal  in  my  voice,  if  there 
was  any,  passed  him  quite  unnoticed. 

"Indeed?"  he  said.  "Brutus,  you  will 
put  an  extra  blanket  on  my  bed,  for  I  fancy 
the  night  air  is  biting." 

I  pushed  back  my  chair. 

"And  now,  you  will  excuse  me"  I  said, 
"if  I  take  my  leave." 

I  rose  a  trifle  unsteadily,  and  stood  before 
him,  with  no  particular ,  effort  to  hide  my 
anger  and  contempt.  But  apparently  I  had 
ceased  to  be  of  interest.  He  was  sitting  just 
as  I  had  first  seen  him  that  morning,  staring 
into  the  embers  of  the  fire.  As  I  watched 
him,  even  through  my  anger  I  felt  a  vague 
regret,  a  touch  of  pity — pity  for  a  life  that 
was  wasted  in  spite  of  its  possibilities,  in 

[35] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

boasting  and  blackguardry.  I  began  hoping 
that  he  would  speak,  would  argue  or  remon 
strate.  Instead,  he  said  nothing,  only  sat 
serenely  indifferent,  his  eyes  still  on  the  fire. 
Stepping  around  the  debris  that  filled  the 
room,  I  had  placed  my  hand  on  the  latch, 
when  I  heard  a  stealthy  footstep  behind  me. 
Brutus  was  at  my  lebow.  There  was  a 
tinkle  of  a  wine  glass  falling  on  the  hearth. 
I  turned  to  see  my  father  facing  me  beside 
the  table  I  had  quitted — the  calm  modula 
tion  gone  from  his  voice,  his  whole  body 
poised  and  alert,  as  though  ready  to  spring 
through  the  space  that  separated  us. 

"No  doubt,"  he  said,  drawing  a  deep 
breath,  "you  are  leaving  this  house  because 
you  cannot  bear  to  stay  under  the  same 
roof  with  a  man  of  my  stamp  and  accom 
plishments.  Come,  is  that  the  reason?" 

"Only  partly,"  I  answered,  turning  to 
face  him,  and  then  the  words  tripped  off  my 
tongue,  hot  and  bitter,  before  I  had  wit  to 
check  them.  "What  right  have  I  to  be 
particular,  now  that  I  have  found  out  my 
inheritance?  Why  should  I  pick  my  com- 

Eany?    Why  should  I  presume  to  hold  my 
ead  up?    I  can  only  be  blessed  now,  sir, 
like  the  rest  of  the  meek." 
I  paused  to  let  my  final  words  sink  in, 

[36] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

and  because  I  knew  they  would  hurt  him, 
I  spoke  them  with  an  added  satisfaction. 

"I  shall  start  at  once  to  acquire  merit 
which  the  moth  cannot  corrupt,"  I  con 
tinued.  "I  am  leaving  to  apologize  to  the 
man  I  fought  with  because  he  called  you 
a  cheat — and  to  my  uncle  for  doubting  his 
word." 

My  father's  fist  came  down  on  the  table 
with  a  crash. 

"Then,  by  God,"  he  shouted,  "you'll  not 
leave  this  room!  You'll  not  take  a  single 
step  until  you've  learned  two  things,  learned 
them  so  you'll  never  forget.  Stand  where 
you  are  and  listen!" 


t37l 


IV. 

I  remember  the  curious  feeling  I  had  that 
my  father  was  gone,  that  he  had  vanished 
while  my  back  was  turned,  leaving  me  to 
face  someone  else.  Then,  as  I  stared  at 
him,  still  unready  and  speechless,  the  light 
died  out  of  his  eyes,  his  lips  relaxed,  and 
his  hand  went  up  to  arrange  the  lace  at 
his  throat. 

"Shun  my  example,"  he  said,  "shudder 
at  the  life  I  have  led.  Call  me  dissolute. 
Call  me  dangerous  company.  Say  that  in 
every  way  I'm  unfit  to  be  your  father — say 
that  I'm  an  outcast,  suitable  only  as  mate 
rial  for  slander.  I  will  agree  with  you.  I 
will  teach  you  that  your  judgment  is  correct. 
Let  us  only  set  two  limits  and  dp  not  call 
them  virtues.  They  are  necessities  in  the 
life  I  lead,  nothing  more.  They — " 

The  sound  at  the  knocker  on  the  front 
door  broke  into  my  father's  speech  and 
stilled  it.  In  the  pause,  while  the  echoes 
died  away,  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  negli 
gently,  and  settled  himself  back  in  his  chair. 

"My  son,"  he  sighed,  "allow  me  to  point 

[38] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

out  the  misfortune  of  being  a  man  of  affairs. 
They  will  never  adjust  themselves  to  the 
proper  time  and  place.  Brutus,  the  two 
gentlemen  about  whom  I  was  speaking — 
show  them  in  at  once.  And  you,  my  son, 
there  is  no  need  for  you  to  leave.  The 
evening  is  young  yet." 

"Where  are  you,  Shelton?"  came  a 
sharp,  authoritative  voice  from  the  hall 
way.  "Damn  this  dark  passage." 

"Open  the  door,  Henry,"  my  father  said. 

As  I  did  so,  two  gentlemen  entered.  The 
taller,  without  bothering  to  remove  his  hat, 
strode  over  to  my  father's  chair.  The  other 
stood  undecided  near  the  threshold,  until 
Brutus  closed  the  door  behind  him.  With 
out  rising  from  his  chair,  my  father  gave 
first  one  and  then  the  other,  the  impartial, 
casual  glance  of  the  disinterested  observer. 

"This,"  he  remarked  politely,  "comes 
near  to  being  unexpected.  I  had  heard  you 
had  come  to  town,  but  I  had  hoped  to  meet 
you  only  in  some  desolate  waste  of  purga 
tory.  I  fear  your  visitation  finds  me  singu 
larly  unprepared  to  do  the  duties  of  a  host. 
You  found  the  passage  dark?  Ah,  Lawton, 
I  fear  it  will  be  darker  still  where  you  are 
going." 

"That's   enough,    Shelton,"   interrupted 

[39] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

the  first  gentleman.  "I  didn't  come  here  to 
hear  you  talk.  I've  heard  you  do  that  often 
enough  in  the  old  days.  You  can  talk  a 
woman  off  her  feet,  but  by  God,  you  can't 
talk  me." 

My  father  waved  his  hand  negligently,  as 
though  disavowing  some  compliment. 

"The  same  forceful  character/'  he  ob 
served  gently,  "the  same  blunt  candor. 
How  refreshing  it  is,  Lawton,  after  years  of 
intrigue  and  dissimulation.  My  son,  this  is 
Mr.  Lawton,  an  old,  but  he  will  pardon  me 
if  I  do  not  add — a  valued  acquaintance." 

For  a  moment  Mr.  Lawton's  pale  eyes 
looked  sharply  into  mine,  and  I  bowed  to 
him  ironically.  I  saw  a  high,  thin  face, 
resolute  and  impulsive,  a  grim  ascetic  face, 
with  a  long,  straight  nose  that  seemed  pulled 
too  close  to  his  upper  lip,  and  a  mouth 
stamped  roughly  on  a  narrow,  bony  jaw, 
a  mouth,  as  I  looked  at  it,  that  seemed 
ready  to  utter  an  imprecation. 

"Mr.  Lawton  and  I  have  met  before," 
I  said. 

"Indeed?  And  our  friend  in  the  back 
ground,"  my  father  continued.  "Perhaps 
it  is  my  bad  memory  that  permits  his 
identity  still  to  be  a  revelation?" 

The  stranger  nervously  arranged  a  fold  in 

[40] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

his  sea  cloak,  while  his  little  black  eyes 
darted  restlessly  about  the  room. 

"It's  Sims,  Captain  Shelton,"  he  volun 
teered,  in  a  gentle,  unassuming  voice,  "and 
very  much  at  your  service." 

"Captain  Shelton  be  damned!"  snapped 
Lawton.  "Keep  your  name  to  yourself, 
Sims,  and  watch  the  nigger  and  the  boy. 
Now,  Shelton,  for  the  reason  why  Fm  here.'* 

"  Indeed,  I  am  forced  to  admit  the  reason 
for  your  visit  may  have  its  pertinence,"  my 
father  admitted.  "The  fatigues  of  a  long 
day,  coupled  with  the  evening's  wine — " 
He  stifled  a  yawn  behind  the  back  of  his 
hand,  and  smiled  in  polite  deprecation. 

Slight  as  was  his  speech,  Mr.  Lawton 
seemed  to  take  a  deep  interest  in  it.  Indeed, 
even  while  he  backed  around  the  table  and 
seated  himself  in  the  chair  I  had  occupied, 
my  father's  slightest  expression  engaged  his 
undivided  attention.  There  fell  a  silence 
such  as  sometimes  comes  at  a  game  of  cards 
when  the  stakes  at  the  table  are  running 
higher  than  is  pleasant.  Brutus  was  watch 
ing  Mr.  Sims  with  a  malignant  intensity. 
Mr.  Sims  watched  Brutus.  Mr.  Lawton's 
eyes,  as  I  have  said,  never  left  my  father, 
and  my  father  polished  his  nails  on  the 
sleeve  of  his  coat. 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"  Did  I  understand  you  to  say,"  he  asked 
finally,  "that  you  were  planning  to  relieve 
my  mind  of  the  burden  of  speculation?" 

"Quite,"  said  Mr.  Lawton,  with  a  poor 
attempt  at  dryness.  "I  have  come  here 
tonight  to  induce  or  force  you  to  return  a 
piece  of  stolen  property.  I  give  you  the 
liberty  of  taking  your  choice.  Either " 

His  voice  raised  itself  to  a  sharp  command. 

"Damn  you.  Shell on ,  sit  still!" 

The  picture  had  changed.  Mr.  Lawton 
was  leaning  across  the  table,  levelling  a 
pistol  at  my  father's  head.  With  a  de 
tached,  academic  interest,  my  father  glanced 
at  the  weapon,  and,  without  perceptible 
pause,  without  added  haste  or  deliberation, 
he  continued  to  withdraw  the  hand  he  had 
thrust  into  his  right  coat  pocket.  Beside  me 
I  heard  Brutus  draw  a  sharp  breath.  I  saw 
Mr.  Sims  fumble  under  his  cloak  and  take 
a  quick  step  backwards.  There  was  a  tense, 
pregnant  silence,  broken  by  Mr.  Sims  in 
fervent  expletive.  My  father  had  withdrawn 
his  hand.  He  was  holding  in  it  his  silver 
snuff  box,  which  he  tossed  carelessly  on  the 
table,  where  it  slid  among  the  wine  bottles. 

"Why  strain  so  at  a  gnat,  Lawton,"  he 
continued  in  his  old  conversational  manner. 
"Though  one  can  kill  a  sparrow  with  a  five 

[42] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

pound  shot,  is  it  worth  the  effort?  Small  as 
my  personal  regard  is  for  you,  a  note  penned 
in  three  lines  would  have  brought  you  back 
your  trinket.  But  when  you  say  it  is 
stolen " 

With  a  gesture  of  exasperation,  Mr.  Law- 
ton  attempted  to  interrupt. 

"When  you  say  it  is  stolen,"  my  father 
continued,  raising  his  voice,  "your  memory 
fails  you.  I  won  that  snuff  box  from  you 
fairly,  because  your  horse  refused  a  water 
jump  in  Baltimore  fifteen  years  ago." 

Mr.  Lawton  made  a  grimace  of  impatience. 

"  Perhaps  I  can  refresh  your  memory  on 
a  more  immediate  matter,"  he  interjected 
harshly,  "a  matter  rather  more  in  keeping 
with  your  character.  Don't,  don't  move, 
I  beg  of  you!  At  a  certain  chateau  in  the 
Loire  Valley,  as  recently  as  two  months  ago, 
you  had  an  unfortunate  escapade  with 
French  government  agents." 

"Let  us  err  on  the  side  of  accuracy,"  said 
my  father  in  gracious  assent,  "and  add  that 
the  affair  was  rather  more  unfortunate  for 
the  agents  than  for  myself." 

"  Meaning  it  was  fortunate  you  ran  away, 
I  suppose,"  suggested  Mr.  Lawton,  "fortu 
nate,  but  natural.  You  escaped,  Shelton, 
in  the  company  of  a  certain  young  lady  they 

[43] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

were  seeking  to  apprehend.  You  retained 
in  your  possession  a  list  of  names  of  political 
importance.  It  is  a  part  of  your  damned 
blackmail,  I  suppose.  I  say  you  stole  that 
paper!" 

*  Indeed?"  said  my  father.  "In  that 
case,  permit  me!  The  snuff  is  excellent, 
Lawton,  although  the  box  is  commonplace." 

"By  God!",  shouted  Mr.  Lawton,  "I've 
had  enough  of  your  damned  simpering  airs  ? 
You're  a  coward,  Shelton.  Why  conceal  it 
from  me?  A  coward,  afraid  to  demand 
satisfaction  after  a  public  insult — a  thief 
with  your  theft  still  about  you.  I've  come 
to  get  that  list,  to  return  it  to  its  rightful 
owners.  Try  your  drunkard's  bragging  on 
stupefied  boys,  but  not  on  me!  For  the  last 
time — will  you  give  that  letter  up?" 

My  father's  hand  that  held  the  snuff  box 
trembled.  His  glance  was  almost  furtive  as 
he  looked  from  Mr.  Sims  back  to  Mr. 
Lawton.  For  a  moment  he  stared  half- 
puzzled  at  Mr.  Lawton's  pistol.  Then  he 
moistened  his  lips. 

"Suppose  I  should  refuse?"  he  asked. 

With  a  wan  smile,  Mr.  Lawton  rubbed  his 
left  hand  over  his  long  chin. 

"In  that  case,"  he  said,  "I  shall  summon 
five  men  whom  I  hold  outside.  They  will 

[44] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

search  the  house,  having  searched  you  first. 
If  they  do  not  find  the  letter,  I  shall  give 
you  one  more  chance  to  produce  it." 

"Of  course  you  realize  your  action  is 
illegal?"  my  father  interrupted. 

Mr.  Lawton  laughed. 

"We've  beaten  about  the  bush  long 
enough,"  he  said.  "Will  I  have  to  remind 
you  again  that  I  didn't  come  to  hear  you 
talk?  Come  to  the  point.  Will  you  give  up 
that  paper?" 

With  a  sigh  of  resignation,  my  father 
fumbled  in  his  breast  pocket.  When  he 
spoke,  it  seemed  a  weak  appeal  to  justify 
his  action. 

"Under  the  circumstances,  what  else  can 
I  do?"  he  demanded,  "though  it  seems  hard 
when  I  had  given  my  word  not  to  part  with 
it." 

He  produced  a  long,  sealed  document, 
which  he  handed  across  the  table.  Mr. 
Lawton's  eyes  glistened  with  anticipation  as 
he  took  it.  He  held  it  over  the  table  to 
scan  the  seal. 

"Damn  all  your  caution,  Sims!"  he  ex 
claimed  exultantly.  We've  got  it  just  as  I 
said  we  would!  Didn't  I  tell  you " 

His  voice  choked.  He  burst  into  a 
violent  fit  of  sneezing.  My  father  had 

[45] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

thrown  the  contents  of  his  snuff  box  into 
Mr.  Lawton's  face. 

If  his  chair  had  been  of  hot  iron,  he  could 
not  have  moved  more  quickly.  Almost  the 
same  moment,  Mr.  Lawton's  pistol  was  in 
my  father's  hand,  cocked  and  primed  and 
pointed  at  Mr.  Sims. 

"Brutus,"  said  my  father,  "unburden 
Mr.  Sims  of  his  weapons.  Lawton,  a  breath 
of  night  air  may  relieve  you.  Let  us  go  to 
the  window  and  reflect  on  the  slip  that  may 
occur  between  the  container  and  the  nose. 
My  son,  give  Mr.  Lawton  your  arm.  Assist 
me  to  open  the  shutters.  Now  Mr.  Lawton, 
call  to  your  men.  Tell  them  they  may  go. 
Louder,  louder,  Mr.  Lawton.  Surely  your 
voice  has  more  strength.  My  ears  have 
been  weary  this  long  time  with  its  clamor." 


[46] 


V. 

Even  today,  as  I  pen  these  lines,  the 
picture  comes  back  with  the  same  intensity, 
but  little  mellowed  or  softened  with  the 
years.  The  gaunt  old  room  that  had  enter 
tained  so  many  guests,  emptied  of  its  last 
one,  with  nothing  but  the  faint  chill  that 
had  come  through  the  opened  window  to 
remind  one  of  their  presence — the  fitful  light 
of  the  two  candles  that  had  begun  splutter 
ing  in  the  tall  brass  sticks — Brutus  with 
quiet  adroitness  clearing  away  the  bottles 
and  the  dishes — and  a  sudden  burst  of  flame 
from  the  back  log  in  the  fireplace  that  made 
his  shadow  jump  unevenly  over  the  opposite 
wall — and  my  father  resting  languidly  in 
his  chair  again,  quite  as  though  nothing  had 
happened — I  remember  looking  about  me 
and  almost  doubting  that  anything  out  of 
the  ordinary  had  passed  in  the  last  five 
minutes.  I  glanced  narrowly  at  him,  but 
there  was  nothing  in  his  manner  to  betray 
that  he  had  not  been  sitting  there  for  the 
past  hour  in  peaceful  meditation.  Was  he 
thinking  of  the  other  nights  when  the  room 
was  bright  with  silver  and  candles? 

[47] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"My  son,"  he  remarked  presently,  "I  was 
saying  to  you  before  our  callers  interrupted 
that  there  are  just  two  things  I  never  do. 
Do  you  still  care  to  know  them  ?  I  think 
that  one  may  be  enough  for  tonight.  It  is 
that  circumstances  oblige  me  to  keep  my 
word." 

"You  do  not  care  to  tell  me  any  more?" 
I  asked  him. 

"Only  that  you  had  better  stay,  my  son. 
If  you  do,  I  can  guarantee  you  will  see  me 
at  my  worst,  which  is  better,  perhaps,  than 
hearing  of  me  second  hand.  And  possibly 
it  may  even  be  interesting,  the  little  drama 
which  is  starting." 

Thoughtfully  he  balanced  the  pistol  he 
was  still  holding  on  the  palm  of  his  hand, 
and  half  unconsciously  examined  the  prim 
ing,  while  I  watched  him,  half  with  mis 
giving,  half  with  a  reluctant  sort  of  admira 
tion.  When  he  turned  towards  me  again, 
his  eyes  had  brightened  as  though  he  were 
dwelling  on  a  pleasing  reminiscence. 

"Indeed,"  he  mused,  "it  might  be  more 
than  interesting,  hilarious,  in  fact,  if  it  were 
not  for  the  lady  in  the  case." 

"The  lady!"  I  echoed  involuntarily. 

"And  why  not  indeed?"  he  said  with  a 
shrug.  "Let  us  do  our  best  to  be  consistent. 

[48] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

What  drama  is  complete  without  a  lady  in 
it?  It  would  have  been  simpler,  I  admit,  if 
I  had  stolen  the  paper,  per  se,  and  not  the 
lady  with  it.  The  lady,  I  fear,  is  becoming 
an  encumbrance." 

"Am  I  to  understand  you  brought  a 
woman  with  you  across  the  ocean?" 

He  placed  the  pistol  on  the  table  before 
him,  looked  at  it  critically,  and  changed  its 
position. 

"  A  lady,  my  son,  not  a  woman.  You  will 
find  that  the  two  are  quite  different  species. 
I  fear  she  had  but  little  choice.  That  is  a 
pretty  lock  on  Mr.  Lawton's  weapon." 

"You  mean  she  is  here  now?"  I  persisted. 
He  must  surely  have  been  in  jest. 

"To  be  sure!"  he  acquiesced.  "She  is, 
I  trust,  asleep  in  the  east  guest  room,  and 
heaven  help  you  if  you  wake  her.  But  why 
do  you  start,  my  son,  does  it  seem  odd  to 
you  that  I  should  act  as  squire?" 

"Not  in  the  least,"  I  assured  him.  "I 
am  only  astonished  that  she  should  consent 
to  accompany  you.  You  say,  sir,  that  she 
is  a  lady?" 

"At  least,"  he  replied,  "I  am  broadening 
your  education.  That  in  itself,  Henry,  quite 
repays  me  for  any  trouble  I  may  have  taken 
— but  I  fear  you  are  putting  a  bad  con- 

[49] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

struction  on  it.  I  beg  of  you,  do  not  judge 
me  so  harshly.  Launcelot  himself — what 
am  I  saying? — Bayard  himself,  up  to  the 
present  moment,  could  only  commend  my 
every  action." 

"Even  to  bringing  her  to  this  house,"  I 
suggested  coldly. 

"Precisely,"  he  replied.  "That  in  itself 
was  actuated  by  the  highest  piece  of  altruism 
heaven  has  vouchsafed  humanity — the  re 
gard  a  father  has  for  his  son." 

"Do  you  mean  to  think,"  I  demanded 
angrily,  "that  you  can  bring  me  into  this 
business?" 

I  was  still  on  my  feet,  and  took  a  quick 
step  toward  him. 

"Is  it  not  enough  to  find  you  what  you 
are?  You've  done  enough  to  me  tonight, 
sir,  without  adding  an  insult." 

My  father  nodded,  quite  as  though  he 
were  receiving  a  compliment.  Seemingly 
still  well  pleased,  he  helped  himself  again  to 
his  snuff,  and  dusted  his  fingers  carefully 
with  his  lace  handerchief. 

"You  misunderstand  me,"  he  said  gently. 
"My  present  occupation  requires  a  shrewder 
head  and  a  steadier  hand  than  yours." 

"And  a  different  code  of  morals,"  I  added, 
bowing. 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"Positively,  my  son,  you  are  turning 
Puritan,"  he  remarked.  "A  most  refreshing 
change  for  the  family." 

I  had  an  angry  retort  at  the  tip  of  my 
tongue,  but  it  remained  unspoken.  For  the 
second  time  that  evening,  the  dining  room 
door  opened.  I  swung  away  from  the  table. 
My  father  leapt  to  his  feet,  bland  and 
obsequious.  A  girl  with  dark  hair  and  eyes 
was  standing  on  the  threshold,  staring  at  us 
curiously,  holding  a  candle  that  softened  the 
austerity  of  her  plain  black  dress.  There  in 
the  half  light  there  was  a  slender  grace 
about  her  that  made  her  seem  vaguely  un 
real.  In  that  disordered  room  she  seemed 
as  incongruous  as  some  portrait  from  a 
house  across  the  water,  as  coldly  unre 
sponsive  to  her  surroundings.  I  imagined 
her  on  the  last  canvas  of  the  gallery,  bear 
ing  all  the  traits  of  the  family  line — the  same 
quiet  assurance,  the  same  confident  tilt  of 
the  head,  the  same  high  forehead  and  clear 
cut  features. 

Evidently  a  similar  thought  was  running 
through  my  father's  mind. 

"Ah,  Mademoiselle,"  he  said  swiftly  in 
the  French  tongue,  "stay  where  you  are! 
Stay  but  a  moment!  For  as  you  stand  there 
in  the  shadows,  you  epitomize  the  whole 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

house  of  Blanzy,  their  grace,  their  pride, 
their  beauty." 

She  tried  to  suppress  a  smile,  but  only 
half  succeeded. 

"I  fear  the  Captain  has  been  drinking 
again,"  she  said  quietly.  "Not  that  I  am 
sorry.  The  wine  improves  you,  I  think." 

"Mademoiselle  lures  me  to  a  drunkard's 
grave,"  exclaimed  my  father,  bowing  low, 
"but  pray  be  seated.  A  chair  for  the  lady, 
my  son.  Early  this  afternoon  they  told  me 
not  to  expect  you.  I  trust  you  have  had 
everything  possible  done  for  your  comfort?" 

For  a  moment  she  favored  me  with  an 
incurious  glance. 

"I  was  unable  to  see  you  on  the  ship, 
captain,  and  I  wanted  to  have  a  word  with 
you  at  the  first  opportunity.  Otherwise  I 
would  not  have  favored  you  with  a  tableau 
of  the  house  of  Blanzy.  I  wanted  to  speak 
with  you — alone." 

She  had  declined  the  chair  I  offered  her, 
and  was  standing  facing  him,  her  eyes 
almost  on  a  level  with  his. 

"This,"  said  my  father,  bowing  again, 
"is  delightfully  unexpected!  But  I  forget 
myself.  This  is  my  son,  Henry  Shelton. 
May  I  present  him  to  Mile,  de  Blanzy?" 

"I  suppose  you  may  as  well,"  she  replied, 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

holding  a  hand  toward  me  indifferently. 
"Let  us  trust  he  has  your  good  qualities, 
monsieur,  and  none  of  your  bad  ones.  But 
I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  alone/' 

"My  son  is  discretion  itself,"  said  my 
father,  with  another  bow.  "Pray  let  him 
stay.  I  feel  sure  our  discussion  will  not  only 
interest  but  instruct  him." 

Mademoiselle  frowned  and  tapped  an 
angry  foot  on  the  floor. 

"You  heard  what  I  said,  sir.  Send  him 
out,"  she  demanded. 

"Stay  where  you  are,  Henry,"  said  my 
father  gently.  "Stay  where  you  are,"  he 
repeated  more  loudly,  as  I  started  for  the 
door.  "I  have  something  further  to  say  to 
you  before  you  leave  this  house." 

"Your  pardon,"  he  explained,  turning 
again  to  Mademoiselle,  "but  my  son  and  I 
have  had  a  slight  falling  out  over  a  question 
of  ethics  which  I  think  directly  concerns 
the  matter  you  wish  to  discuss.  Pray  for 
give  me,  Mademoiselle,  but  I  had  much 
rather  he  remained." 

Mademoiselle  glanced  at  me  again,  this 
time  with  an  appeal  in  her  eyes  which  I 
read  and  understood.  It  seemed  to  me  a 
trace  more  of  color  had  mounted  to  her 

[53] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

checks.  ^  She  seemed  about  to  speak  but 
paused  irresolutely. 

I  made  a  bow  which  I  did  my  best  to 
render  the  equal  of  my  father's,  and  for  the 
first  time  I  was  glad  I  had  entered  his  house. 

"Mademoiselle,"  I  said,  "it  is  a  pleasure 
to  render  you  even  so  small  a  service." 

And  I  turned  to  my  father,  and  met  his 
glance  squarely. 

"I  cannot  see  any  profit  to  either  of  us 
for  me  to  remain  longer,"  I  observed, 
"either  here  or  in  this  house,"  and  I  turned 
to  the  door. 

"Brutus!"  called  my  father  sharply. 
"Stand  by  the  door.  Now  sir,  if  you  leave 
this  room  before  I  am  ready,  my  servant 
shall  retain  you  by  force.  Mademoiselle  will 

Eardon  this  domestic  scene,"  he  added,  "  the 
oy  has  an  uncertain  temper." 
I  looked  to  see  Brutus'  great  bulk  grin 
ning  at  me  from  the  doorway.  I  saw  my 
father  half  smiling,  and  fingering  the  lace 
at  his  throat.  I  saw  Mademoiselle  watching 
me,  partly  frightened,  but  partly  curious,  as 
though  she  had  witnessed  similar  occur 
rences.  Then  my  pent  up  anger  got  the 
better  of  me.  Mr.  Lawton's  pistol  still  lay 
on  the  table.  Before  my  father  could 

[54] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

divine  my  intention,  I  had  seized  it,  and 
held  it  pointed  at  Brutus'  head. 

"Sir/*  I  said,  breathing  a  trifle  faster 
than  usual,  "I  am  not  used  to  being  threat 
ened  by  servants.  Order  him  to  one  side!" 

My  father  looked  at  me  almost  ad 
miringly,  and  his  hand,  that  had  been 
fingering  the  lace,  groped  toward  an  empty 
bottle. 

"Anything  but  a  bottle,  father,"  I  said, 
watching  him  from  the  tail  of  my  eye, 
"anything  but  a  bottle.  It  smacks  of  such 
low  associations." 

"Your  pardon,  Henry,"  he  said  quickly, 
"the  movement  was  purely  unconscious.  I 
had  thought  we  were  through  with  pistols 
for  the  evening,  and  Mademoiselle  must  be 
fatigued.  So  put  down  the  pistol,  Henry, 
and  let  us  continue  the  interview. 

"Certainly,"  I  replied,  "as  soon  as  you 
have  fulfilled  your  part  of  the  contract.  As 
soon  as  you  call  off  your  servant,  I  shall 
wish  you  a  very  good  evening.  Stand  where 
you  are,  Brutus." 

"Come,  come,"  said  my  father  patiently, 
"we  have  had  enough  of  the  grotesque  this 
evening.  It  is  growing  late,  my  son.  Put 
down  the  pistol." 

"Brutus,"  I  called,  "if  you  move  again, 

[55] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

backwards  or  forwards,  I'll  fire,"  and  I 
backed  towards  the  wall. 

"Good"  said  my  father.  "Henry,  you 
have  an  amount  of  courage  and  foresight 
which  I  scarcely  expected,  even  in  a  son  of 
mine,  yet  not  enough  foresight  to  see  that 
it  is  useless.  Put  down  the  pistol.  Put  it 
down  before  I  take  it  from  you!" 

His  hand  had  returned  again  to  his  torn 
lapel,  and  he  was  leaning  slightly  forward. 

"One  instant,  father!"  I  said  quickly. 
"If  you  come  a  step  nearer,  I  shall  fire  on 
your  servant.  Pray  believe  I  am  serious, 
father." 

"My  son!"  he  cried  in  mock  alarm. 
"You  distress  me!  Never  be  serious.  Life 
has  too  many  disappointments  for  that. 
Have  you  not  read  Marcus  Aurelius?" 

"Have  you  reloaded  your  snuff  box?" 
I  asked  him. 

"Not  that,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head, 
"but  I  know  a  hundred  ways  to  disarm  a 
man,  otherwise  I  should  not  be  here  witness 
ing  this  original  situation.  My  son,  I 
could  have  killed  you  half  a  dozen  times 
since  you  have  been  holding  that  weapon." 

"Admitted,"  I  answered,  "but  I  hardly 
think  you  will  go  to  such  lengths.  We  all 
must  pause  somewhere,  father."/ 

[56] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"No/*  he  agreed,  "unfortunately  I  am 
of  a  mild  disposition,  and  yet — "  he  made 
a  sudden  move  toward  me — "Do  you 
realize  your  weapon  is  unprimed?" 

"Shall  I  try  it?"  I  asked. 

"Excellent!"  said  my  father.  "You  im 
press  me.  Yes,  I  have  underrated  your 
possibilities,  Henry.  However,  the  play  is 
over — " 

He  leaned  towards  the  table  abruptly  and 
extinguished  both  the  candles.  The  glow  of 
embers  in  the  fireplace  could  not  relieve  the 
darkness  of  the  shuttered  room. 

"Now,"  he  continued,  "Mademoiselle  is 
standing  beside  me,  and  Brutus  is  between 
you  and  me  and  approaching  you.  I  think 
it  would  be  safer  if  you  put  the  pistol  down. 
One's  aim  is  uncertain  in  the  dark,  and, 
after  all,  it  is  not  Mademoiselle's  quarrel. 
Tell  him  to  put  down  the  pistol,  Made 
moiselle." 

Her  voice  answered  from  the  darkness'in 
front  of  me. 

"On  the  contrary,"  she  said  lightly, 
"pray  continue.  I  have  not  the  heart  to 
stop  it — nor  the  courage  to  interfere  in  a 
family  quarrel." 

"Quite  as  one  would  expect  from  Made 
moiselle,  "his  voice  replied, "  but  fortunately 

[57] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

my  son  also  has  not  forgotten  his  manners. 
Henry,  have  you  set  down  the  pistol?" 

I  tossed  it  on  the  floor. 

"Unfortunately,"  I  said,  "I  have  no 
woman  to  hide  behind." 

I  hoped  the  thrust  went  home,  but  my 
father's  voice  answered  without  a  tremor. 

"You  are  right,  my  son.  A  woman  is 
often  useful,  though  generally  when  you 
least  expect  it.  The  candles,  Brutus." 


[58] 


VI. 

He  rubbed  his  fingernails  on  his  sleeve 
and  glanced  about  him  with  a  pleasure  he 
seemed  quite  unable  to  conceal.  Made 
moiselle's  cold  stare  seemed  to  react  upon 
him  like  a  smile  of  gratitude.  The  contempt 
on  my  face  he  seemed  to  read  in  terms  of 
adulation. 

"Brutus,  pick  up  the  pistol.  My  son, 
you  are  more  amusing  than  I  had  hoped. 
Indeed,  Mademoiselle,  perhaps  the  old 
saying  is  right,  that  the  best  is  in  our  door- 
yard.  I  have  had,  perhaps,  an  exceptional 
opportunity  to  see  the  world.  I  have  spent 
a  longer  time  than  I  like  to  think  collecting 
material  for  enlivening  reminiscence,  but  I 
cannot  recall  having  been  present  before  at 
a  scene  with  so  many  elements  of  interest. 
You  harbor  no  ill  feelings,  my  son?" 

"None  that  are  new,"  I  said.  "Only  my 
first  impressions." 

"And  they  are — ?"  He  paused  modestly. 
He  might  have  been  awaiting  a  tribute. 

"Father!"  I  remonstrated.  "There  is  a 
lady  present!" 

[59] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"You  had  almost  made  me  forget,"  he 
sighed  regretfully.  'You  wished  to  have  a 
word  with  me,  Mademoiselle?  I  am  listen 
ing.  No,  no,  my  son !  You  will  be  interested, 
I  am  sure.  The  door,  Brutus!" 

But  it  was  not  Brutus  who  stopped  me. 
Mademoiselle  had  laid  a  hand  on  my  arm. 
As  I  looked  down  at  her,  the  bitterness  and 
chagrin  I  had  felt  began  slowly  to  ebb  away. 
Her  eyes  met  mine  for  a  moment  in  thought 
ful  appraisal. 

"You  have  been  kind,"  she  said  softly, 
"Kind,  and  you  know  you  have  no  rea 
son ." 

She  might  have  continued,  but  my  father 
interrupted. 

"No  reason,"  he  said,  "No  reason?  It  is 
only  Mademoiselle's  complete  disregard  of 
self  that  prevents  her  from  seeing  the 
reason.  A  reason,"  he  added,  bowing, 
"which  seems  to  me  as  natural  as  it  is 
obvious." 

I  turned  toward  him  quickly.  From  the 
corner  of  my  eye  I  could  see  Brutus  move 
nearer,  and  then  Mademoiselle  stepped  be 
tween  us. 

"We  have  had  quite  enough  of  this," 
said  Mademoiselle,  and  she  looked  from  one 
to  the  other  of  us  with  a  condescension  that 

[60] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

was  not  wholly  displeasing.  Then,  fixing  her 
eyes  on  my  father,  she  continued: 

"Not  that  I  am  in  the  least  afraid  of  you, 
Captain  Shelton.  We  have  had  to  employ 
too  many  men  like  you  not  to  know  your 
type.  Your  son,  I  think,  must  take  after 
his  mother.  I  fear  he  thinks  I  am  a  damsel 
in  distress.  I  trust,  captain,  that  you  know 
better,  though  for  the  moment,  you  seem 
to  have  forgotten." 

"Forgotten?"  my  father  echoed,  raising 
his  eyebrows. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  speaking  more  quickly, 
"forgotten  that  you  are  in  the  pay  of  my 
family.  You  had  contracted  to  get  certain 
papers  from  France,  which  were  in  danger 
of  being  seized  by  the  authorities." 

Seemingly  undecided  how  to  go  on,  she 
hesitated,  glanced  at  me  covertly,  and  then 
continued. 

"I   accompanied  you  because " 

"Because  you  did  not  care  to  share  the 
fate  reserved  for  the  papers?"  my  father 
suggested  politely. 

For  a  moment  she  was  silent,  staring  at 
my  father  almost  incredulously,  while  he 
inclined  his  head  solicitously,  as  though 
ready  to  obey  her  smallest  wish.  Again  I 
started  to  turn  away. 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"The  door,  Brutus/'  said  my  father. 

"I  am  beginning  to  see  I  made  a  mistake 
in  not  remaining/'  Mademoiselle  said  finally. 
"Yet  you; " 

"Contrived  to  rescue  both  the  papers 
and  Mademoiselle,  if  I  remember  rightly," 
said  my  father,  bowing,  "an  interesting 
and  original  undertaking,  but  pray  do  not 
thank  me." 

"Be  still!"  she  commanded  sharply. 
"You  were  not  paid  to  be  impertinent, 
captain.  I  have  only  one  more  request  to 
make  of  you  before  I  leave  this  house  to 
morrow  morning." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  glanced 
at  me,  as  though  definitely  to  assure  himself 
that  I  was  listening. 

"I  do  not  think  that  Mademoiselle  will 
leave  the  house  at  that  date,"  he  said,  with 
a  second  bow. 

"And  what  does  the  captain  mean  by 
that?"  she  asked  quickly. 

"Simply  that  the  house  is  already 
watched,"  said  my  father,  "watched,  Made 
moiselle,  by  persons  in  the  pay  of  the 
French  government.  Do  not  start,  Made 
moiselle,  they  will  not  trouble  us  tonight, 
I  think." 

For   the   first   time   her  surprising  self- 

[62] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

confidence  left  her.  She  turned  pale,  even 
to  her  red  lips,  stretched  out  a  hand  blindly, 
and  grasped  the  table. 

"And  the  paper?"  she  whispered.  "You 
have  destroyed  it?" 

My  father  shook  his  head. 

"Then,"  gasped  Mademoiselle,  "give  it 
to  me  now !  At  once,  captain,  if  you  please ! " 

"Mademoiselle  no  longer  trusts  me?" 
asked  my  father,  in  tones  of  pained  sur 
prise.    "Surely  not  that!" 

"Exactly  that!"  she  flung  back  at  him 
angrily. 

He  bowed  smilingly  in  acknowledgment. 

"And  Mademoiselle  is  right,"  he  agreed. 
"I  have  read  the  paper.  I  have  been 
tempted." 

"You  rogue!"  she  cried.  "You  mean " 

"I  mean,"  he  interrupted  calmly,  "that 
I  have  been  tempted  and  have  fallen. 
The  document  I  carry  has  too  much  value, 
Madamoiselle.  The  actual  signatures  of 
the  gentlemen  who  had  been  so  deluded  as 
to  believe  they  could  restore  a  king  to 
France !  Figure  for  yourself,  my  lady,  those 
names  properly  used  are  a  veritable  gold 
mine,  more  profitable  than  my  Chinese 
trade  can  hope  to  be!  Surely  you  realize 
that?" 

[63] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"So  you  have  turned  from  cards  to  dip 
lomacy/'  I  observed.  "How  versatile  you 
grow,  father!" 

"They  are  much  the  same  thing,"  my 
father  said. 

"And  you  mean,"  Mademoiselle  cried, 
"you  are  dog  enough  to  use  those  names? 
You  mean  you  are  going  back  on  your  word 
either  to  destroy  that  list  or  to  place  it  in 
proper  hands?  You  mean  you  are  willing 
to  see  your  friends  go  under  the  guillotine? 
Surely  not,  monsieur!  Surely  you  are  too 
brave  a  gentleman.  Surely  a  man  who  has 
behaved  as  gallantly  as  you — No,  captain, 
I  cannot  believe  it!" 

"Mademoiselle,"  he  said  blandly,  "still 
has  much  to  learn  of  the  world.  Take  my 
self,  for  instance.  I  am  a  gentleman  only 
by  birth  and  breeding.  Otherwise,  pray 
believe  I  am  quite  unspeakable,  quite.  Do 
you  not  see  that  even  my  son  finds  me  so?" 

He  nodded  towards  me  in  graceful  cour 
tesy. 

"For  me,"  he  continued  smoothly,  "only 
one  thing  has  ever  remained  evident,  and 
well-defined  for  long,  and  that,  my  lady,  is 
money.  Nearly  everything  else  seems  to 
tarnish,  but  still  money  keeps  its  lustre. 
Ah!  Now  we  begin  to  understand  each 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

other.  Strange  you  should  not  realize  it 
sooner.  I  cannot  understand  what  actuated 
so  many  persons,  supposedly  rational,  to 
sign  such  a  ridiculous  document.  That 
they  have  done  so  is  their  fault,  not  mine. 
I  believe,  Mademoiselle,  in  profiting  by  the 
mistakes  of  others.  I  believe  in  profiting  by 
this  one.  Someone  should  be  glad  to  pay  a 
pretty  price  for  it." 

He  stopped  and  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
and  she  stood  before  him  helpless,  her  hand 
raised  toward  him  in  entreaty.  For  a  mo 
ment  my  father  glanced  away. 

"You  couldn't!  Oh,  you  couldn't!"  she 
began.  "For  God's  sake,  Monsieur,  think 
what  you  are  doing.  I — we  all  trusted  you, 
depended  on  your  help.  We  thought  you 
were  with  us.  We " 

Her  voice  choked  in  a  sob,  and  she  sank 
into  a  chair,  her  face  buried  in  her  hands. 
My  father  looked  at  her,  and  took  a  pinch 
of  snuff. 

"Indeed,"  he  said,  "I  am  almost  sorry, 
but  it  is  the  game,  Mademoiselle.  We  each 
have  our  little  square  on  the  chess  board. 
I  regret  that  mine  is  a  black  one.  A  while 
ago  I  was  a  pawn,  paid  by  your  family. 
Then  it  seemed  to  me  expedient  to  do  as  you 
dictated — to  take  you  out  of  France  to 

[65] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

safety,  to  deliver  both  you  and  a  certain 
paper  to  your  brother's  care.  But  that  was  a 
while  ago.  I  am  approaching  the  king  row 
now.  Forgive  me,  if  things  seem  different — 
and  rest  assured,  Mademoiselle,  that  you, 
at  least,  are  in  safe  hands  as  long  as  you 
obey  my  directions." 

He  made  this  last  statement  with  a  benign 
complacency,  and  once  more  busied  himself 
with  his  nails.  I  took  a  step  toward  him, 
and  he  looked  up,  as  though  to  receive  my 
congratulations. 

"So  you  leave  us,  my  son,"  he  said 
briskly.  "I  fear  you  will  meet  with  trouble 
before  you  pass  the  lane.  But  you  seem 
surprisingly  able  to  look  out  for  yourself. 
Brutus  will  help  you  to  saddle." 

'You  are  mistaken,"  I  said.  "I  am  not 
leaving." 

And  I  bowed  to  Mademoiselle,  who  had 
started  at  the  sound  of  my  voice,  and  was 
staring  at  me  with  a  tear-stained  face. 

"I  have  decided  to  stay,"  I  cried,  "If 
Mademoiselle  will  permit  me." 

But  she  did  not  answer,  and  my  father 
regarded  us  carefully,  as  though  balancing 
possibilities. 

"Not  leaving!"  Whether  my  statement 
was  surprising  or  otherwise  was  impossible 

[66] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

to  discern.  He  raised  his  eyebrows  in 
interrogation,  and  I  smiled  at  him  in  a 
manner  I  hoped  resembled  his. 

"I  fear  you  may  tire  of  my  company," 
I  went  on,  "  because  I  am  going  to  stay  until 
you  have  disposed  of  this  paper  as  Made 
moiselle  desires.  Or  if  you  are  unwilling 
to  do  so,  I  shall  take  pleasure  in  doing  it 
myself." 

My  father  rubbed  his  hands,  and  then 
tapped  me  playfully  on  the  shoulder. 

"Somehow  I  thought  this  little  scene 
would  fetch  you,"  he  cried.  "Excellent, 
my  son!  I  hoped  you  might  stay  on." 

"And  now,  sir,"  I  said,  "the  paper,  if 
you  please." 

"What!"  exclaimed  my  father,  with  a 
gesture  of  astonishment.  "You  too  want 
the  paper!  How  popular  it  is  becoming,  to 
be  sure!" 

"At  least  I  am  going  to  try  to  get  it," 
I  began  gravely,  when  a  sudden  change  in 
his  expression  stopped  me. 

"Wait,"  he  said  coldly.  "Look  before 
you  leap,  my  son.  Allow  me  to  make  the 
situation  perfectly  clear  before  you  attempt 
anything  so  foolish.  In  the  first  place,  let 
us  take  myself.  I  am  older  than  you,  it  is 
true,  but  years  and  excitement  have  not 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

entirely  weakened  me.  I  have  been  present 
in  many  little  unpleasantnesses.  I  have 
fought  with  Barbary  pirates  and  Chinese 
junks,  and  with  assorted  Christians.  The 
fact  that  I  am  here  tonight  proves  I  am 
usually  successful.  Even  if  I  were  alone, 
I  doubt  if  you  could  take  the  paper  from  me. 

But  you  forget  another  matter " 

He  turned  and  pointed  to  Brutus  in  the 
doorway.  Brutus  grinned  back  and  nodded 
violently,  his  eyes  rolling  in  pleased  antici 
pation. 

"Eight  years  ago,"  my  father  continued, 
"I  saved  Brutus  from  the  gallows  at  Ja 
maica.  He  has  a  strangely  persistent  sense 
of  gratitude.  I  have  seen  Brutus  only  last 
month  kill  three  stronger  men  than  you, 
my  son.  I  fancy  the  document  is  safe  in 
my  pocket,  quite  safe." 

He  half  smiled,  and  took  another  pinch 
of  snuff. 

"But  let  us  indulge  in  the  impossible," 
he  continued.  "Suppose  you  did  get  the 
paper.  Let  us  examine  the  paper  itself." 

And  slowly  he  drew  it  from  his  pocket, 
and  flicked  it  flat  in  the  candle  light. 

"Come,  Henry,  draw  up  a  chair,  and  let 
us  be  sensible.  Another  bottle  of  Madeira, 

[68] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

Brutus.  And  now,  tell  me,  what  do  you 
know  of  French  politics?" 

"Sir,"  I  objected,  "it  seems  to  me  you 
are  forgetting  the  point.  What  have  politics 
to  do  with  you  and  me?" 

It  seemed  to  me  I  saw  another  oppor 
tunity.  With  a  sense  of  elation  I  did  my 
best  to  conceal,  I  watched  him  quickly 
drain  his  glass,  and  I  thought  his  eyes  were 
brighter,  and  his  gestures  less  careful  and 
alert. 

"Politics,"  he  said,  "and  politics  alone, 
Henry,  are  responsible  for  this  evening's 
entertainment.  Surely  you  have  perceived 
that  much.  The  glasses,  Brutus,  watch 
the  glasses!  These  are  parlous  times,  my 
son."  He  raised  his  glass  again 

"Mademoiselle  will  tell  you  as  much. 
We  made  an  interesting  journey  through 
the  provinces,  did  we  not,  my  lady?  It  is  a 
pity  your  father,  the  Marquis,  could  not 
nave  enjoyed  it  with  us.  He  had  a  penchant 
for  interesting  situations,  and  in  France 
today  anything  may  happen.  In  a  few 
scant  months  dukes  have  turned  into 
pastry  cooks,  and  barbers'  boys  into  gen 
erals.  Tomorrow  it  may  be  a  republic,  or  a 
monarchy  that  governs,  or  some  bizarre 
contrivance  that  is  neither  one  nor  the 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

other.  Just  now  it  is  Napoleon  Bonaparte, 
a  very  determined  little  man.  Ah,  you 
have  heard  of  him,  my  son?  I  sometimes 
wonder  if  he  will  not  go  further  than  many 
of  us  think." 

Yes,  we  had  already  begun  to  hear  his 
name  in  America.  We  had  already  begun 
to  wonder  how  soon  his  influence  would  be 
overthrown,  for  it  was  in  the  days  before 
he  had  consolidated  his  power.  He  was 
still  existing  in  a  maze  of  plots,  still  facing 
royalists  and  revolutionists,  all  conspiring 
to  seize  the  reins. 

"I  sometimes  wonder,  Mademoiselle," 
he  continued  thoughtfully,  "if  your  friends 
realized  the  task  before  them  when  they 
attempted  to  kill  Napoleon.  Ah,  now  you 
grow  interested,  my  son?  Yes,  that  is 
what  this  paper  signifies.  Written  on  this 
paper  are  the  signatures  of  fifty  men — 
signatures  to  an  oath  to  kill  Napoleon 
Bonaparte  and  to  restore  a  king  to  France. 
You  will  agree  with  me  it  is  a  most  original 
and  intriguing  document." 

"So  they  didn't  kill  him,"  I  said. 

"Indeed  not,"  he  replied;  "quite  the 
contrary.  They  gave  him  a  new  lease  of 
life." 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"Then  why/'  I  demanded,  "didn't  they 
burn  the  paper.  Why " 

"Ah!"  said  my  father,  with  an  indulgent 
smile.  "There  you  have  it,  to  be  sure. 
You  have  hit  the  root  of  the  whole  matter." 

"It  was  the  old  Marquis's  idea.  He  told 
me  of  it  at  the  time.  If  everyone  in  the  plot 
signed  the  oath,  it  would  be  a  dangerous 
thing  indeed  for  anyone  to  inform  on  the 
rest,  because  they  would  immediately 
produce  the  paper  which  showed  him  as 
guilty  as  they.  There  are  commendable 
points  in  the  Marquis's  idea,  my  son.  Now 
that  the  plot  has  failed,  the  existence  of  this 
paper  is  all  that  keeps  many  a  man  from 
telling  a  valuable  and  dangerous  little  story. 
In  these  signatures  I  read  names  of  men 
above  suspicion,  men  high  in  the  present 
government.  Somehow  Napoleon's  police 
have  learned  of  the  existence  of  this  paper. 
It  has  become  almost  vital  for  Napoleon  to 
obtain  it.  He  has  tried  to  get  it  already. 
Since  it  reposed  in  the  strong  box  at  the 
Chateau  of  Blanzy,  it  has  cost  him  five  men. 
It  has  cost  me  new  halliards  and  rigging  for 
the  Eclipse,  and  Brutus  a  disfigured  coun 
tenance — not  that  I  am  complaining.  Some 
one  shall  pay  me  for  it.  And  the  game  is 
just  beginning,  my  son.  Mr.  Lawton — have 

[71] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

ou  wondered  who  he  is?  He  is  a  very  reek- 
ess  man  in  the  pay  of  France.  He  will  get 
that  paper  if  he  can,  if  not  by  force,  by 
money.  Even  now  his  men  are  watching 
the  house.  Suppose  you  held  the  paper  in 
your  hands,  my  son,  you  still  have  Mr. 
Lawton." 

He  folded  the  paper,  and  replaced  it  in 
his  pocket. 

"It  is  safer  here  at  present,"  said  my 
father.  "There  will  be  others  who  will  want 
it  presently,  and  then,  perhaps,  we  will 
dispose  of  it." 

"In  other  words,  you  intend  to  sell  the 
people  who  entrusted  you  with  the  paper 
to  the  highest  bidder?"  I  inquired. 

He  glanced  towards  Mademoiselle,  and 
back  to  me  again,  and  smiled  brightly. 

"That,"  he  admitted  pleasantly,  "is  one 
way  of  looking  at  it,  though  it  might  be 
viewed  from  more  congenial  angles." 

I  started  to  speak,  but  he  raised  his  voice, 
and  for  the  second  time  that  evening  became 
entirely  serious. 

"The  paper,"  he  said,  "has  nothing  to  do 
with  your  being  in  this  house  tonight.  You 
are  becoming  more  of  a  hindrance  than  I 
expected,  but  you  are  here,  and  here  you 
will  stay  for  another  reason.  I  have  heard 

[72] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

much  of  the  good  examples  parents  set 
their  children.  For  me  to  set  one  is  a  patent 
impossibility.  I  have  never  been  a  good 
example.  But  perhaps  I  can  offer  you 
something  which  is  even  better,  and  that, 
my  son,  is  why  I  asked  you  to  this  house. 
Can  you  guess  what  it  is?" 

"There  is  no  need  to  guess,"  I  said, 
"you  have  been  perfectly  clear." 

Gossip  had  it  that  my  father  always 
loved  the  theatre,  though  perhaps  the 
Green  Room  better  than  the  footlights. 
The  marked  passages  in  his  library  still 
attest  his  propensity.  He  now  looked  about 
him  with  a  keen  appreciation,  as  though 
my  words  were  all  that  he  required  to  round 
out  his  evening.  Like  a  man  whose  work 
is  finished,  and  who  is  pleasantly  fatigued 
by  his  exertions,  he  leaned  back  in  his 
chair. 

"My  son,"  he  said,  "you  have  a  keenness 
of  wit,  and  a  certain  decision,  which  I  con 
fess  I  overlooked  in  you  at  first " 

The  moment  must  have  pleased  him,  for 
he  paused,  as  though  on  purpose  to  prolong 
it. 

"You  are  right,"  he  continued  finally. 
"  I  am  here  to  set  you  a  bad  example,  Henry, 
and,  believe  me,  it  will  be  no  fault  of  mine 

[73] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

if  it  is  not  more  effective  than  a  good  one. 
Listen,  my  son,  and  you  too,  Mademoiselle, 
I  have  been  many  things,  tried  many  things 
in  this  life,  most  of  them  discreditable. 
I  have  wasted  my  days  and  my  prospects 
in  a  thousand  futilities.  I  have  lost  my 
friends.  I  have  lost  my  position.  Sneer  at 
me,  my  son,  laugh  at  me,  curse  me  if  you 
wish.  I  shall  be  the  first  to  commend  you 
for  it.  I  am  broad-minded  enough  to 
recognize  your  position. 

"But  above  all  things  watch  me.  Watch 
me,  and  remember  the  things  I  do.  Recall 
my  ethics  and  my  logic.  They  are  to  be 
your  legacy,  my  son.  What  money  I  may 
leave  you  is  doubtless  tainted.  But  the 
things  I  do — of  course  you  perceive  their 
value?" 

"Only  in  a  negative  sense,"  I  replied 
pushing  the  bottle  toward  him. 

"You  are  right  again,"  he  said,  refilling 
his  glass.  "Their  value,  as  you  say,  is 
purely  negative.  Yet,  believe  me,  it  does 
not  impair  them.  You  have  only  to  place 
them  before  you  and  do  exactly  opposite. 
It  is  the  best  way  I  can  think  of  for  you  to 
become  a  decent  and  self-respecting  man. 
And  now  you  have  the  only  reason  why  I 
permit  you  in  my  society.  The  lesson  has 

[74] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

already  started — an  original  lesson,   is  it 
not?" 

As  though  to  close  the  interview,  he 
sprang  up  lightly,  and  bowed  to  Made 
moiselle.  It  seemed  tome  he  was  combating 
a  slight  embarrassment,  for  he  paused, 
seemingly  uncertain  how  to  begin,  but  only 
for  a  moment.  Mademoiselle  had  regained 
her  self-possession,  and  was  regarding  him 
with  attention,  and  a  little  of  the  contempt 
which  became  her  so  well. 

"Mademoiselle,"  he  said,  "even  the  pain 
of  distressing  you  is  lessened  by  the  unex 
pected  pleasure  of  your  company  tonight. 
I  hope  you  have  found  the  hour  not  entirely 
unprofitable.  It  has  sometimes  seemed  to 
me,  my  lady — pardon  the  rudeness  of 
suggesting  it — that  you  may  have  seen 
something  romantic,  something  heroic  in  me 
from  time  to  time.  I  trust  you  have  been 
disillusioned  tonight.  The  fight  on  the  stairs, 
the  open  boat — you  see  them  all  as  they 
should  be,  do  you  not,  the  necessary  parts  of 
a  piece  of  villainy?  Pray  forget  them — and 
good  night,  Mademoiselle." 

Suddenly  both  he  and  I  started,  and 
involuntarily  his  hand  want  up  to  cover  his 
torn  lapel.  Mademoiselle  was  laughing. 

"Captain,"  she  cried,  "you  are  absurd!" 

[75] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"Absurd!"  exclaimed  my  father  uncer 
tainly. 

"You  of  all  people!  You  cannot  sell  the 
paper!" 

He  sighed  with  apparent  relief. 

"And  why  not?"  he  asked. 

"Because,"  said  Mademoiselle,  "you  are 
one  of  those  who  signed  it." 

"Mademoiselle  forgets,"  said  my  father, 
bowing,  "that  her  name  and  mine  were 
written  at  the  bottom  of  the  list.  It  is  a 
precaution  I  always  take  with  such  little 
matters.  The  first  thing  I  did,  Made 
moiselle,  was  to  cut  both  off  with  my  razor. 
Brutus,  light  the  stairs  for  the  lady." 

Without  another  glance  at  either  of  us, 
she  walked  slowly  away,  her  chin  tilted,  her 
slender  fingers  clenched.  I  knew  that  anger, 
fear,  and  disappointment  were  walking 
there  beside  her,  and  yet  she  left  the 
room  as  proudly  as  she  had  entered  it. 

I  stood  listening  to  her  step  on  the  stairs. 

"Ah,"  said  my  father,  "there  is  a  woman 
for  you." 

The  last  few  minutes  seemed  to  have 
wearied  him,  for  he  sank  back  heavily  in 
his  chair.  For  a  minute  we  were  silent,  and 
suddenly  a  speech  of  his  ran  through  my 
memory. 

[76] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"May  I  ask  you  a  question?"  I  inquired. 

"It  is  my  regret  if  I  have  not  been  clear/' 
he  said. 

"It  is  not  that/'  I  assured  him,  "but  you 
have  appeared  to  allow  yourself  a  single 


virtue." 


He  raised  his  eyebrows. 
^  "You  have  admitted/'  I  persisted,  "that 
circumstances  force  you  to  keep  your  word." 

"That,"  my  father  said,  "is  merely  a 
necessity — not  a  virtue." 

"Possibly,"  I  agreed.  "Yet,  in  your 
conversation  with  Mr.  Lawton  you  stated 
that  you  had  given  your  word  not  to  sur 
render  this  paper.  My  question  is — how 
can  you  reconcile  this  with  your  present 
intentions?" 

For  almost  the  only  time  I  can  remember, 
my  father  seemed  puzzled  for  an  answer. 
He  started  to  speak,  and  shook  his  head — 
drew  out  his  handkerchief  and  passed  it 
over  his  lips. 

"Circumstances  alter  even  principles," 
he  answered  finally,  "and  this,  my  son,  is 
one  of  the  circumstances.  Brutus,  the  boy 
has  been  trying  to  get  me  drunk  long 
enough.  Show  him  to  his  bedroom,  and 
bring  me  my  cloak  and  pistols." 

[771 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

Brutus  lifted  one  of  the  candlesticks, 
grinned  at  me,  and  nodded. 

"A  very  good  night  to  you,  Henry," 
said  my  father  tranquilly. 

I  bowed  to  him  with  courtesy  which 
perhaps  was  intuitive. 

"  Be  sure,"  I  told  him,  "  to  keep  your  door 
locked,  father." 

"Pray  do  not  worry,"  he  replied.  "I 
have  thought  out  each  phase  of  my  visit 
here  too  long  for  anything  untoward  to 
happen.  Until  morning,  Henry." 

'  I  am  not  worrying,"  I  rejoined.  "Merely 
warning  you — pardon  my  incivility,  father 
— but  I  might  grow  tired  watching  you  be  a 
bad  example.  Did  you  consider  that  in 
your  plans?" 

My  father  yawned,  and  placed  his  feet 
nearer  the  coals. 

"That  is  better,"  he  said,  "much  better, 
my  son.  Now  you  are  speaking  like  a 
gentleman.  I  had  begun  to  fear  for  you. 
It  has  seemed  to  me  you  were  almost 
narrow-minded.  Never  be  that.  Nothing 
is  more  annoying.'" 

I  "drew  myself  up  to  my  full  height. 

"Sir "  I  began. 

He  slapped  his  hand  on  the  table  with  an 
exclamation  of  disgust. 

[78] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"And  now  you  spoil  it!  Now  you  begin 
to  rant  and  become  heroic.  I  know  what 
you're  going  to  say.  You  cannot  see  a 
woman  bullied — what?  Well,  by  heaven, 
you  can,  and  you  will  see  it.  You  cannot 
stand  an  act  of  treachery?  Come,  come,  my 
son,  you  have  better  blood  in  you  than  to 
pose  as  a  low  actor.  All  around  us,  every 
day,  these  things  are  happening.  Meet 
them  like  a  man,  and  do  not  tell  me  what 
is  obvious." 

I  felt  my  nails  bite  into  my  palms. 

"Your  pardon,  father,"  I  said.  "I  shall 
behave  better  in  the  future." 

He  glanced  at  me  narrowly  for  a  moment. 

"I  believe,"  he  said,  "we  begin  to  under 
stand.  A  very  good  night  to  you,  Henry. 
And  Henry- |f 

A  change  in  his  tone  made  me  spin  about 
on  my  heel. 

"I  am  going  to  pay  you  a  compliment. 
Pray  do  not  be  overcome.  I  have  decided 
to  consider  you  in  my  plans,  my  son,  as 
a  possible  disturbing  factor.  Brutus,  you 
will  take  his  pistols  from  his  saddle  bags." 

In  silence  Brutus  conducted  me  into  the 
cold  hall  and  up  the  winding  staircase, 
where  his  candle  made  the  shadows  of  the 
newel  posts  dance  against  the  wainscot. 

[79] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

I  paused  a  moment  at  the  landing  to  look 
back,  but  I  could  see  nothing  in  the  dark 
pit  of  the  hall  below  us.  Was  it  possible  I 
could  remember  it  alight  with  candles, 
whose  flames  made  soft  halos  on  the  pol 
ished  floor?  Brutus  touched  my  shoulder, 
and  the  brusque  grasp  of  his  hand  turned 
me  a  trifle  cold. 

"Move on,  "I  ordered  sharply,  "and  light 
me  to  my  room." 

My  speech  appeared  to  amuse  him. 

"No,  no — you  first,"  said  Brutus.  "I 
go — perhaps  you  be  angry.  See?" 

And  he  became  so  involved  in  throes  of 
merriment  that  I  hoped  he  might  extinguish 
the  candle. 

I  thought  better  of  an  angry  command, 
which  I  knew  he  would  not  obey,  and  turned 
through  the  arched  moulding  that  marked 
the  entrance  to  the  upper  hall,  and  at  his 
direction  opened  a  door.  As  I  paused  in 
voluntarily  on  the  threshold,  Brutus  deftly 
slipped  past,  set  the  candle  on  a  stand,  and 
bent  over  my  saddle  bags.  Still  chuckling 
to  himself,, he  dropped  my  pistols  into  his 
shirt  bosom.  Then  his  grin  died  away. 
His  low  forehead  became  creased  and  puck 
ered.  He  shifted  his  weight  from  one  foot 

[so] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

to  the  other  irresolutely,  and  drew  a  deep 
breath. 

"Mister  Henry — "  he  began. 

^Well,"  I  said. 

"Something  happen.  Very  bad  here. 
You  go  home." 

His  sudden  change  of  manner,  and  the 
shadowy,  musty  silence  around  me  threat 
ened  to  shake  the  coolness  I  had  attempted 
to  assume.  Unconsciously  my  hand  dropped 
to  the  hilt  of  my  travelling  sword.  I  looked 
across  at  him  through  the  shadows. 

"You  go  home,"  said  Brutus. 
"Something  will  happen,  or  something  has 
happened?"  I  asked. 

But  Brutus  only  shook  his  head  stupidly. 

"Very  bad.   You  go  home,"  he  persisted. 

"You  go  to  the  devil,"  I  said,  "and  leave 
that  candle.  I  won't  burn  down  the  house." 

He  moved  reluctantly  towards  the  door. 

"Monsieur  very  angry,"  said  Brutus. 

"Shut  the  door,"  I  said,  "the  draft  is 
blowing  the  candle." 

He  pulled  it  to  without  another  word,  and 
I  could  hear  him  fumbling  with  the  lock. 

For  the  last  ten  years  I  doubt  if  anything 
had  been  changed  in  that  room,  except  for 
the  addition  of  three  blankets  which  Brutus 
had  evidently  laid  some  hours  before  on 

[81] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

the  mildewed  mattress  of  the  carved  four 
post  bed.  My  mother  must  have  ordered 
up  the  curtains  that  hung  over  it  in  yellowed 
faded  tatters.  The  charred  wood  of  a  fire 
that  had  been  lighted  when  the  room  was 
new,  still  lay  over  the  green  clotted  andirons. 
The  dampness  of  a  seaside  town  had  cracked 
and  warped  the  furniture,  and  had  turned 
the  mirrors  into  sad  mockeries.  The  strange 
musty  odor  of  unused  houses  hung  heavy 
in  the  air. 

I  sat  quiet  for  a  while,  on  the  edge  of  my 
bed,  alert  for  some  sound  outside,  but  in  the 
hall  it  was  very  still.  Then  my  hand  fell 
again  on  the  hilt  of  my  travelling  sword. 
That  my  father  had  overlooked  it  increased 
the  resentment  I  bore  him. 

Slowly  I  drew  the  blade  and  tested  its 
perfect  balance,  and  limbered  my  wrist  in 
a  few  idle  passes  at  the  fringe  of  the  bed 
curtain.  Then  I  knotted  it  over  my  hand, 
tossed  a  blanket  over  me,  and  blew  out  the 
light.  From  where  I  lay  I  could  see  the 
running  lights  of  the  Shelton  ships  swaying 
in  a  freshening  breeze,  three  together  in 
port  for  the  first  time  in  ten  years.  The 
sky  had  become  so  overcast  that  every 
shape  outside  had  merged  into  an  inky 
monotone.  I  could  hear  the  low  murmur  of 

[82] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

the  wind  twisting  through  the  branches  of 
our  elms,  and  the  whistle  of  it  as  it  passed 
our  gables.  Once  below  I  heard  my  father's 
step,  quick  and  decisive,  his  voice  raised  to 
give  an  order,  and  the  closing  of  a  door. 

Gradually  the  thoughts  which  were  racing 
through  my  mind,  as  thoughts  sometimes 
do,  when  the  candle  is  out,  and  the  room 
you  lie  in  grows  intangible  and  vast,  as 
sumed  a  well-balanced  relativity.  I  smiled 
to  myself  in  the  darkness.  There  was  one 
thing  that  evening  which  my  father  had 
overlooked.  We  both  were  proud. 

He  still  seemed  to  be  near  me,  still  seemed 
to  be  watching  me  with  his  cool  half  smile. 
If  his  voice,  pleasant,  level  and  passionless, 
had  broken  the  silence  about  me,  I  should 
not  have  been  surprised.  Strange  how  little 
he  had  changed,  and  how  much  I  had  ex 
pected  to  see  him  altered.  I  could  still 
remember  the  last  time.  The  years  between 
seemed  only  a  little  while.  We  had  been 
very  gay.  The  card  tables  had  been  out, 
and  he  had  been  playing,  politely  detached, 
seemingly  half-absorbed  in  his  own  thoughts 
and  yet  alertly  courteous.  I  could  see  him 
now,  pushing  a  handful  of  gold  towards  his 
right  hand  neighbor,  and  the  clink  of  the 
metal  and  its  color  seemed  to  please  him, 

[83] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

for  he  ran  his  fingers  lightly  through  the 
coins.  And  then,  yes,  Brutus  had  lighted 
me  to  my  room.  Could  it  have  been  ten 
years  ago? 

As  I  lay  staring  at  the  blackness  ahead  of 
me,  my  thoughts  returned  to  the  room  I 
had  quitted.  Had  she  been  about  to  thank 
me?  I  heard  his  slow,  cynical  voice  inter 
rupting  me,  and  felt  her  hand  drop  from 
my  arm.  Then,  in  a  strange,  even  cadence 
a  sentence  of  his  began  running  through 
my  memory. 

"It  might  be  interesting,  hilarious,  in 
fact,  if  it  were  not  for  the  lady  in  the 
case  .  .  .  .  " 


[84] 


VII 

Something  was  pressing  on  my  shoulder, 
thrusting  me  slowly  into  consciousness. 
Half  awake,  I  wrenched  myself  free,  snatch 
ing  for  my  sword  as  I  did  so.  It  was  a  chill 
and  cloudy  morning,  and  Brutus  was  stand 
ing  by  my  bed,  holding  a  bowl  of  chocolate 
between  a  thumb  and  forefinger,  that  made 
the  piece  of  china  look  as  delicately  fragile 
as  a  flower. 

"Eleven  o'clock,"  he  said.  "You  sleep 
late." 

I  looked  at  him  blankly,  still  trying  to 
shake  off  the  drowsiness  that  crowded  upon 
me.  It  seemed  only  a  few  minutes  back 
that  he  had  lighted  me  to  that  room.  He 
must  have  detected  a  shade  of  suspicion  in 
the  look  I  gave  him. 

"Too  much  wine,"  said  Brutus  quickly. 

But  when  he  spoke,  I  knew  it  was  not 
wine  that  made  me  sleep  the  whole  night 
through.  He  thrust  the  bowl  he  was  holding 
nearer  to  me. 

"And  now  you  poison  me,"  I  remarked, 
but  he  shook  his  head  in  emphatic  negation. 

"Hah !"  he  grunted,  and  emitted  a  curious 

[85] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

chuckle  that  caused  me  to  give  him  my  full 
attention. 

"  You  find  the  morning  amusing,  Brutus  ?" 
I  asked. 

He  gulped  and  nodded  in  assent. 

"Last  night  you  kill  me.  Now  I  give  you 
chocolate.  He!  He!" 

I  glanced  at  him  over  the  edge  of  the 
chocolate  bowl.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had 
heard  anyone  laugh  at  so  truly  a  Christian 
doctrine. 

"Monsieur  sends  compliments/'  he  said. 

"Brutus,"  came  my  father's  voice  across 
the  hall,  "tell  him  I  will  see  him  as  soon  as 
he  has  finished  dressing." 

He  was  sitting  before  his  fire,  wrapped  in 
a  dressing  gown  of  Chinese  silk,  embroidered 
with  flowers.  By  the  tongs  and  shovel  lay 
a  pair  of  riding  boots,  still  so  wet  and  mud- 
spattered  that  he  must  have  pulled  them  oft 
within  the  hour.  A  decanter  of  rum  was 
near  him  on  a  stand.  On  his  knee  was  a 
volume  of  Rabelais,  which  was  affording 
him  decorous  amusement. 

Brutus  was  busy  gathering  up  the  gray 
satin  small  clothes  of  the  previous  day, 
which  had  been  tossed  in  a  careless  heap  on 
the  floor,  and  I  perceived  that  they  also 
bore  the  marks  of  travel.  Careful  mentors, 

[86] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

who  had  taken  a  lively  pleasure  in  their 
teaching,  had  been  at  pains  to  tell  me  that 
he  was  a  man  of  irregular  habits.  Yet  with 
indulgent  politeness  he  remained  blandly 
reticent.  For  him  the  day  seemed  to  have 
started  afresh,  independent  and  unrelated  to 
other  days.  It  had  awakened  in  him  a  genial 
spirit,  far  brighter  than  the  morning.  He 
greeted  me  with  a  gay  wave  of  the  hand  and 
a  nod  of  invitation  towards  the  rum.  My 
refusal  served  only  to  increase  his  courteous 
good  nature. 

"A  very  good  morning  to  you,  my  son," 
he  said.  "So  you  have  slept.  Gad,  how  I 
envy  you!  It  is  hard  to  be  a  man  of  affairs 
and  still  rest  with  any  regularity." 

He  waved  me  to  a  chair  in  a  slow,  sweep 
ing  gesture,  timed  and  directed  so  that  it 
ended  at  the  rum  decanter. 

"You  will  pardon  my  addressing  you 
through  Brutus,"  he  continued  confiden 
tially,  "but  it  is  a  habit  of  mine  which  I 
find  it  hard  to  break.  I  am  eccentric,  my 
son.  I  never  speak  to  anyone  of  a  morning 
till  I  have  finished  my  cup  of  chocolate. 
I  have  seen  too  many  quarrels  flare  up  over 
an  empty  stomach." 

He  stretched  a  foot  nearer  the  blaze,  and 
smiled  comfortably  at  the  hissing  back  log. 

is?] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"And  it  would  be  a  pity  to  have  a  falling 
out  on  such  a  morning  as  this,  a  very  great 
pity,  to  be  sure." 

The  very  thought  of  it  seemed  to  give  him 
pause  for  pleased,  though  thoughtful  con 
templation,  for  he  sipped  his  rum  in  silence 
until  the  tumbler  was  half  empty. 

"Once  in  Bordeaux,"  he  volunteered  at 
last,  "there  was  a  man  whom  I  fear  I  pro 
voked  quite  needlessly — all  because  I  was 
walking  in  the  garden  with  a  headache,  and 
my  chocolate  was  late — Lay  out  the  other 
shirt,  Brutus,  I  must  be  well  dressed  today. 
What  was  it  I  was  saying?" 

"That  you  were  walking  in  the  garden 
with  a  headache,"  I  reminded  him.  "Surely 
you  had  something  better  to  walk  with  near 
at  hand?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  drained  his 
glass,  and  wiped  his  fingers  carefully  on  a 
cambric  handkerchief. 

"Either  that  or  my  conscience,"  he  re 
plied,  "and  oddly  enough,  I  preferred  the 
headache.  He  might  have  been  alive  today 
if  I  had  had  my  chocolate.  Poor  man!" 
he  sighed. 

"You  wanted  to  see^me?"  I  asked,  "or 
simply  to  impress  me?" 

He  raised  a  hand  in  shocked  denial. 

[88] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"Pray  do  not  believe  I  am  so  vulgar/'  he 
replied.  "Yes,  I  wished  to  see  you,  Henry, 
for  two  reasons.  First,  I  was  absent- 
minded  last  evening.  I  find  I  do  not  know 
the  name  of  the  gentleman  with  whom  you 
had  the  falling  out.  If  you  tell  me — who 
knows — the  world  is  small." 

He  waited  expectantly,  and  I  smiled  at 
him.  I  had  hoped  he  would  ask  me. 

uYou  really  care  to  know  his  name?" 

"It  might  be  useful,"  he  confessed.  "As 
I  said — who  knows?  Perhaps  we  may  have 
something  in  common — some  little  mutual 
interest." 

"I  am  sure  you  have,"  I  told  him.  "The 
man  I  fought  with  was  Mr.  Lawton — at  my 
uncle's  country  house." 

For  a  fraction  of  a  second  I  thought  he  was 
astonished.  I  thought  that  the  look  he  gave 
was  almost  one  of  respect,  but  it  was  hard 
to  tell. 

"And  you  wounded  him?"  he  asked 
quickly. 

"I  hardly  think  Mr.  Lawton  expected  it," 
I  acknowledged. 

"I  fear,"  he  mused,  "that  the  years  are 
telling  on  Mr.  Lawton — and  your  Uncle 
Jason  knew  of  this  unpleasantness?" 

"Not  until  afterwards." 

[89] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"Of  course  he  was  shocked?" 

I  nodded.  "You  had  another  reason  for 
seeing  me?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "a  simple  one.  I  did 
not  want  you  to  go  downstairs  till  I  went 
with  you.  Another  cup  of  chocolate,  Brutus. 
This  morning,  my  son,  I  am  consuming  two 
cups  of  chocolate  instead  of  one." 

"You  expect  to  find  me  irritable?"  I 
suggested. 

He  shook  his  head  in  smiling  contradic 
tion. 

"It  is  because  I  have  a  surprise  in  store 
for  you.  Who  do  you  think  has  come  to 
see  me?" 

"I  am  utterly  at  a  loss,"  I  said,  bowing, 
"unless  it  is  the  constable." 

"On  the  contrary,"  he  replied,  "it  is  the 
man  I  hate  more  than  anyone  else  in  the 
world." 

Only  his  words,  however,  hinted  that  the 
contingency  was  unpleasant.  His  tone  was 
one  of  pleased  anticipation.  He  hummed  a 
little  tune,  as  Brutus  knelt  before  him  to 
help  him  on  with  a  new  pair  of  top  boots, 
spotless  and  shining. 

A  few  minutes  later  he  stood  before 
his  mirror  critically  examining  a  coat  of 
blue  broadcloth.  It  evidently  satisfied  him, 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

for  he  smiled  back  indulgently  at  his  image 
in  the  glass,  and  watched  complacently 
while  Brutus  smoothed  its  folds. 

"A  gentleman  should  always  have  twenty 
coats/'  he  remarked,  turning  toward  me. 
"Personally,  I  never  travel  with  less  than 
twenty-five — a  point  in  my  favor,  is  it  not, 
my  son?" 

"And  when  we  remember  the  lady  who 

accompanies  the  coats "  I  bowed,  and 

he  turned  slowly  back  to  the  mirror. 

"Let  us  trust,"  he  replied  coldly,  "you 
will  not  be  obliged  to  remind  yourself  often 
that  she  is  a  lady,  and  that  she  shall  be 
treated  as  one  both  by  you  and  by  me  as 
long  as  she  remains  beneath  this  roof." 

I  felt  a  pleasing  sense  of  triumph  at  the 
success  of  my  remark,  and  abruptly  deter 
mined  to  drive  it  home. 

"Sir,"  I  said,  "You  astound  me." 

"Astound  you?"  He  left  his  neckcloth 
half  undone,  and  stepped  toward  me,  alertly 
courteous.  "You  mean  you  take  exception 
to  what  I  have  just  said?" 

"Indeed  not,"  I  replied,  with  another 
bow.  "I  find  you  changed  this  morning — 
into  a  good  example  instead  of  a  bad  one." 

And  then  before  he  could  reply,  I  leaned 
over  the  chair  he  had  quitted.  Lying  in  the 

[91] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

corner  of  the  faded  upholstery  was  an  oval 
of  gold.  Before  he  perceived  my  intention, 
I  had  picked  it  up,  and  almost  at  the  same 
moment  his  hand  fell  on  my  arm.  I  looked 
up  quickly.  His  face  was  close  to  mine, 
closer  than  I  had  ever  seen  it,  placid  still, 
but  somehow  changed,  somehow  so  subtly 
different  that  I  wrenched  myself  free,  and 
stepped  a  pace  away.  Brutus  dropped  the 
coat  he  was  folding,  and  shuffled  forward 
hastily. 

"How  careless  of  me  to  have  left  it  there," 
said  my  father  gently.  "Hand  me  the 
locket,  if  you  please,  my  son,  and  many 
thanks  for  picking  it  up/' 

The  jewelled  clasp  was  under  my  thumb 
I  pressed  it,  and  the  gold  locket  I  was 
holding  flew  open,  but  before  I  could 
look  further,  he  had  struck  a  sharp  blow 
at  my  wrist,  and  the  locket  fell  from  my 
hand. 

"Pick  it  up,  Brutus,"  he  said,  his  eyes 
never  leaving  mine,  and  we  watched  each 
other  for  a  second  in  silence. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "let  us  go  down  stairs. 
You  may  find  it  instructive  to  see  how  I 
treat  my  enemies." 

"I  am  afraid,"  I  said  slowly,  "that  you' 
will  do  better  without  me." 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

Slowly  the  thin  line  of  his  lips  relaxed, 
and  he  raised  his  hands  to  adjust  his  neck 
cloth. 

"Your  episode  with  Mr.  Lawton  makes 
me  quite  sure  of  it,"  he  answered,  in  a  tone 
he  might  have  used  to  an  ambitious  school 
boy.  "But  you  forget.  You  are  still  pur 
suing  part  of  your  education.  Never,  never 
neglect  an  opportunity  to  learn,  my  son. 
Something  tells  me  even  now  you  will  be 
repaid  for  your  trouble.  Come,  we  are 
late  already." 

So  I  followed  him  down  the  creaking 
stairs  to  the  morning  room.  I  could  not 
suppress  a  start  as  I  passed  over  the  thresh 
old.  In  front  of  our  heavy  mahogany  table, 
attentively  examining  some  maps  and  charts 
that  had  been  scattered  there,  was  my 
Uncle  Jason. 


[93] 


VIII 

Of  all  the  people  I  had  expected  to  see 
that  morning  he  was  the  last.  Almost  un 
consciously  I  recalled  the  little  kindnesses 
he  had  rendered  me.  Busy  as  he  had  been 
with  commercial  ventures,  there  was  never 
a  time  when  he  had  not  stood  ready  with 
his  help.  And  even  my  father's  name — 
he  had  never  recalled  it,  except  with  re 
gretful  affection  in  his  sad  little  reminis 
cences  of  older,  pleasanter  days. 

I  thought  I  detected  a  trace  of  that  affec 
tion,  a  trace  of  appeal,  almost,  in  the  look 
he  gave  us  as  we  entered.  They  made  a 
strange  contrast,  my  uncle,  and  my  father, 
in  his  gay  coat  and  laces,  his  slender, 
upright  figure,  and  his  face,  almost  youthful 
beneath  his  powdered  hair.  For  my  uncle 
was  an  older  man,  and  years  and  care  had 
slightly  bowed  him.  The  wrinkles  were 
deep  about  his  mouth  and  eyes.  His  brown 
hair,  simply  dressed,  was  gray  already  at 
the  temples.  His  plain  black  coat  and  knee 
breeches  were  wrinkled  from  travel.  As  he 
often  put  it,  he  had  no  time  to  care  for 
clothes.  Yet  his  cheeks  glowed  from  quiet 

[94] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

living,  and  there  was  a  sly,  good  humored 
twinkle  in  his  brown  eyes  which  went  well 
with  his  broad  shoulders  and  his  strongly 
knit  body.  His  reputation  for  genial  good 
nature  was  with  him  still. 

He  stretched  forth  a  hand,  but  the 
moment  was  inopportune.  My  father  had 
given  his  undivided  attention  to  the  shutters 
on  the  east  windows.  He  walked  swiftly 
over  and  drew  them  to,  snapping  a  bolt  to 
hold  them  in  place.  Then  he  turned  and 
rubbed  his  hands  together  slowly,  examining 
my  uncle  the  while  with  a  cool,  judicial 
glance,  and  then  he  bowed. 

"You  are  growing  old,  Jason,"  he  said, 
by  way  of  greeting. 

"Ah,  George,"  said  my  uncle,  in  his  deep, 
pleasant  voice.  "It  does  me  good  to  see  the 
father  and  the  son  together." 

My  father  joined  the  tips  of  his  fingers 
and  regarded  him  solemnly. 

"Now  heaven  be  praised  for  that!"  he 
exclaimed  with  a  jovial  fervor,  "though 
it  is  hard  to  believe,  Jason,  that  anything 
could  make  you  better  than  you  are.  It 
was  kind  of  you  not  to  keep  my  son  and  me 
apart." 

My  father  came  a  pace  nearer,  his  eyes 
never  for  a  moment  leaving  the  man  oppo- 

[95] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

site.  His  last  words  seemed  to  make  a 
doubtful  impression  on  my  uncle.  He 
looked  quickly  across  at  me,  but  what  he 
saw  must  have  relieved  him. 

"Ah,  that  wit!"  he  laughed.  "It  has 
been  too  long,  George,  too  long  since  I  have 
tasted  of  it.  It  quite  reminds  me  of  the 
old  days,  George — with  the  dances,  and 
the  races  and  the  ladies.  Ah,  George,  how 
they  would  smile  on  you — and  even  today, 
I'll  warrant!  Ah,  if  I  only  had  the  receipt 
that  keeps  you  young." 

"Indeed?  You  care  to  know  it?"  My 
father  quite  suddenly  leaned  forward  and 
tapped  him  on  the  shoulder.  As  though  the 
abruptness  of  the  gesture  startled  him, 
my  uncle  drew  hastily  back.  And  still  my 
father  watched  him.  Between  them  was 
passing  something  which  I  did  not  under 
stand.  The  silence  in  the  room  had  become 
oppressive  before  my  father  spoke  again. 

"Lead  a  life  of  disrepute,"  he  said 
gravely.  "I  cannot  think  of  a  better  cos 
metic." 

"George!"  cried  my  uncle  in  quick  re 
monstrance.  "Remember  your  son  is  with 
you?" 

"And  seems  amply  able  to  look  out  for 

[96] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

himself — surprisingly  able,  Jason.  Have 
you  not  found  it  so?" 

"Thank  heaven,  yes!"  he  laughed,  and 
glanced  hastily  at  me  again. 

My  father's  coat  lapel  was  bothering  him. 
He  straightened  it  thoughtfully,  patted  it 
gently  into  place,  and  then  said: 

"Surely,  Jason,  you  did  not  come  here 
to  discuss  the  past." 

"Perhaps  not,"  Uncle  Jason  replied  with 
another  laugh,  which  seemed  slightly  out 
of  tune  in  the  silence  that  surrounded  him, 
"but  how  can  I  not  be  reminded  of  it? 
This  room  and  you — indeed  Henry  here 
is  all  that  brings  me  back.  He  is  like  you, 
George,  and  yet — "  he  paused  to  favor 
me  with  another  glance — "he  has  his 
mother's  eyes." 

My  father  flicked  a  speck  of  dust  from 
his  sleeve. 

"Suppose,"  he  suggested,  "we  leave  your 
sister  out  of  the  discussion.  Let  us  come 
down  to  practical  matters  and  leave  the 
dead  alone." 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  mentioned 
her.  His  voice  was  coldly  aloof,  but  his 
hand  began  moving  restlessly  again  over 
his  coat  in  search  of  an  imaginary  wrinkle. 

"  You  understand  me?"  he  inquired  gently 

[97] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

after  a  second's  pause.  "Pray  remember, 
Jason,  I  have  only  two  cheeks,  and  I  can 
recall  no  biblical  law  to  follow  if  you  should 
strike  again." 

"God  bless  me!"  gasped  my  uncle  in 
blank  amazement.  "I  did  not  come  here 
to  quarrel.  I  came  because  you  are  in 
trouble.  I  came  as  soon  as  I  had  heard  of 
it,  because  you  need  my  help — because — " 
he  had  regained  his  cordial  eloquence  from 
the  very  cadence  of  his  words.  He  paused, 
and  I  thought  his  eye  moistened  and  his 
voice  quavered,  "because  blood  is  thicker 
than  water,  George." 

At  the  last  words  my  father  inclined  his 
head  gravely,  and  was  momentarily  silent, 
as  though  seeking  an  adequate  reply. 

"I  thought  you  would  come,"  he  said 
slowly.  "In  fact,  I  depended  upon  it  before 
I  set  sail  from  France.  Ha!  That  relieves 
you,  does  it  not,  Jason?" 

Yet  for  some  reason  the  statement  seemed 
to  have  an  opposite  effect.  My  uncle's 
heavy  brows  knitted  together,  and  his 
mouth  moved  uneasily. 

"See,  my  son,  how  the  plot  thickens," 
said  my  father,  turning  to  me  with  a  pleas 
ant  smile.  "And  all  we  needed  was  a  hero. 

[98] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE   GENTLEMAN 

Who  will  it  be,  I  wonder,  you  or  your 
uncle?" 

But  my  uncle  did  not  laugh  again.  In 
stead,  he  squared  his  shoulders  and  his  man 
ner  became  serious. 

"It  is  not  a  time  to  jest,  George,"  he 
said  ominously.  "Don't  you  understand 
what  you  have  done  ?  But  you  cannot  know, 
or  else  you  would  not  be  here.  You  cannot 
know  that  the  house  is  watched!" 

If  he  had  expected  to  surprise  my  father, 
he  must  have  felt  a  poignant  disappoint 
ment;  but  perhaps  he  .knew  that  surprise 
was  a  sentiment  he  seldom  permitted. 

"I  know/'  replied  my  father,  "that  since 
my  arrival  here  I  have  been  the  object  of 
many  flattering  attentions.  But  why  are 
you  concerned,  Jason?  I  have  broken  no 
law  of  the  land.  I  have  merely  mixed 
myself  up  in  French  politics." 

Uncle  Jason  made  an  impatient  gesture. 

"You  have  mixed  yourself  up  in  such  an 
important  affair,  in  such  a  ridiculous  way, 
that  every  secret  agent  that  France  has 
in  this  country  will  be  in  this  town  in  the 
next  twelve  hours.  That's  all  you  have 
done,  George." 

My  father  tapped  his  silver  snuflf  box 
gently. 

[99] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"I  had  hoped  as  much,"  he  remarked 
blandly.  "When  one  is  the  center  of 
interest,  it  is  always  better  to  be  the  very 
center.  You  must  learn  to  know  me  better, 
Jason,  and  then  you  will  understand  that 
I  always  seek  two  things.  I  always  seek 
profit  and  pleasure.  It  seems  as  though 
I  should  find  them  both  in  such  pleasant 
company." 

Then,  as  if  the  matter  were  settled,  he 
looked  again  at  the  shuttered  window,  and 
leaned  down  to  place  another  log  in  the 
fire. 

"Come,  George,"  urged  my  uncle.  "Let 
us  be  serious.  Your  nonchalance  and  irony 
have  been  growing  with  the  years.  Surely 
you  recognize  that  you  have  reached  the 
end  of  your  rope.  I  tell  you,  George,  these 
men  will  stop  at  nothing." 

"Has  it  ever  occurred  to  you,"  returned 
my  father,  "that  I  also,  may  stop  at  noth 
ing?" 

My  uncle  frowned,  and  then  smiled 
bleakly. 

"No,  George,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  that 
dropped  almost  to  a  whisper.  "You  are 
too  fond  of  life  for  that.  Suppose  for  a 
moment,  just  suppose,  they  had  means  of 
taking  you  back  to  France.  Just  suppose 

[ioo] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  G 


there  was  a  boat  in  the  harbor  now,  manned 
and  victualled  and  waiting  for  the  tide, 
with  a  cabin  ready  and  irons.  They  would 
admire  to  see  you  back  in  Paris,  George,  for 
a  day,  or  perhaps  two  days.  I  know, 
George.  They  have  told  me." 

"Positively,"  said  my  father,  stifling  a 
yawn  behind  his  hand,  "positively  you 
frighten  me.  It  is  an  old  sensation  and 
tires  me.  Surely  you  can  be  more  inter 
esting." 

Jason's  face,  red  and  good-natured  always, 
became  a  trifle  redder. 

"We  have  beat  about  the  bush  long 
enough,"  he  said,  with  an  abrupt  lack  of 
suavity.  "I  tell  you,  once  and  for  all,  you 
are  running  against  forces  which  are  too 
strong  for  you  —  forces,  as  I  have  pointed 
out,  that  will  do  anything  to  gain  possession 
of  a  certain  paper.  They  know  you  have 
that  paper,  George." 

My  father  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Indeed?"  he  said.  "I  hardly  admire 
their  perspicacity." 

"And  they  will  prevent  your  disposing  of 
it  at  any  cost.  I  tell  you,  George,  they  will 
stop  at  nothing  —  "  again  his  voice  dropped 
to  a  confidential  monotone  —  "and  that  is 
why  Fm  here,  George,"  my  uncle  concluded. 

[101] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

My  father  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"I  fear  my  mind  works  slowly  in  the 
early  morning.  Pardon  me,  if  I  still  must 
ask — Why  are  you  here?" 

Quite  suddenly  my  uncle's  patience  gave 
way  in  a  singular  manner  to  exasperation, 
exposing  a  side  to  his  character  which  I 
had  not  till  then  suspected. 

"Because  I  can  save  your  neck,  that's 
why!  Though,  God  knows,  you  don't  seem 
to  value  it.  I  have  interceded  for  you, 
George,  I  have  come  here  to  induce  you 
to  give  up  that  paper  peacefully  and  quietly, 
or  else  to  take  the  consequences." 

Evidently  the  force  he  gave  his  words 
contrived  to  drive  them  home,  for  my 
father  nodded. 

"You  mean,"  he  inquired,  "that  they 
propose  to  take  me  to  France,  and  have  me 
handed  over  to  justice,  a  political  prisoner?" 

"  It  is  what  I  meant,  George,  as  a  man  in 
a  plot  to  kill  Napoleon — "  then  his  former 
kindliness  returned — "and  we  cannot  let 
that  happen,  can  we?" 

"Not  if  we  can  prevent  it,"  my  father 
replied.  "If  the  trouble  is  that  I  have  the 
paper  in  my  possession,  I  suppose  I  must 
let  it  go." 

Uncle  Jason  smiled  his  benignest  smile. 

[  102  1 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"I  knew  you  would  understand,"  he 
said,  with  something  I  took  for  a  sigh  of 
relief.  "I  told  them  you  were  too  sensible 
a  man,  George,  not  to  realize  when  a  thing 
was  useless." 

My  father  drew  the  paper  from  his  breast 
pocket,  and  looked  at  it  thoughtfully. 

"Yes,"  he  said  slowly.  "I  suppose  I  must 
let  it  go." 

"Good  God!  What  are  you  doing?" 
cried  my  uncle. 

My  father  had  turned  to  the  fireplace, 
and  was  holding  the  paper  over  the  blaze. 
But  for  some  reason  my  uncle  was  not 
relieved.  He  made  an  ineffectual  gesture. 
His  face  became  a  blotched  red  and  white. 
His  eyes  grew  round  and  staring,  and  his 
mouth  fell  helplessly  open. 

"Stop!"  he  gasped.  "For  God's  sake, 
George " 

"Stay  where  you  are,  Jason,"  said  my 
father.  I  can  manage  alone,  I  think.  I 
suppose  I  should  have  burned  it  long  ago." 

He  withdrew  the  paper  slightly,  as  if  to 
prolong  the  scene  before  him.  If  my  uncle 
had  been  on  the  verge  of  ruin,  he  could  not 
have  looked  more  depressed. 

"Don't!"  he  cried.  "Will  you  listen, 
George?  I'll  be  glad  to  pay  you  for  it." 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

My  father  slowly  straightened,  placed 
the  paper  in  his  pocket,  and  bowed. 

"Now,"  he  said  pleasantly,  "we  are 
talking  a  language  I  understand.  Believe 
me,  Jason,  one  of  my  chief  motives  in 
keeping  this  document  was  the  hope  that 
you  might  realize  its  intrinsic  qualities." 

Uncle  Jason  moistened  his  lips.  His  call 
was  evidently  proving  upsetting. 

"How  much  do  you  want  for  it?"  he 
asked,  with  a  slight  tremor  in  his  voice. 

"Twenty-five  thousand  dollars  seems  a 
fair  demand,"  said  my  father,  "in  notes, 
if  you  please." 

"What!"  my  uncle  shouted. 

My  father  seated  himself  on  the  edge  of 
the  table,  and  surveyed  his  visitor  intently. 

"Be  silent,"  he  said.  "Silent  and  very 
careful,  Jason.  You  seem  to  forget  that  I  am 
a  dangerous  man."  And  he  flicked  an 
imaginary  bit  of  dust  from  his  cuff.  My 
uncle  gave  a  hasty  glance  at  the  half 
opened  door. 

"And  now  listen  to  me,"  my  father 
continued,  his  voice  still  gently  conversa 
tional.  "You  have  tried  to  frighten  me, 
Jason.  You  should  have  known  better. 
Of  all  the  people  in  the  world  I  fear  you 
least.  You  forget  that  I  am  growing  old, 

[104] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

and  all  my  senses  are  becoming  duller — fear 
along  with  the  rest.  You  have  tried  to 
cheat  me  of  the  money  I  have  demanded, 
and  it  has  tried  my  patience.  In  fact,  it 
has  set  my  nerves  quite  on  edge.  Pray 
do  not  irritate  me  again.  I  know  you  must 
have  that  paper,  and  I  know  why.  The 
price  I  offer  is  a  moderate  one  compared  with 
the  unpleasantness  that  may  occur  to  you 
if  you  do  not  get  it.  Never  mind  what  oc 
currence.  I  know  that  you  have  come  here 
prepared  to  pay  that  price.  The  morning  is 
getting  on.  You  have  the  money  in  your 
inside  pocket.  Bring  it  out  and  count  it — 
twenty-five  thousand  dollars." 

Hesitatingly  my  uncle  produced  a  packet 
that  crackled  pleasantly. 

"There!  I  said  you  had  them,"  remarked 
my  father  serenely.  "All  perfectly  nego 
tiable  I  hope,  Jason,  in  case  you  should 
change  your  mind." 

I  stood  helplessly  beside  him,  beset  with 
a  hundred  useless  impulses.  Silently  I 
watched  Jason  Hill  hold  out  the  notes. 

"And  now  the  paper,"  said  my  uncle. 

My  father,  examining  the  packet  with  a 
minute  care,  waved  his  request  aside. 

"First  you  must  let  me  see  what  you  are 
giving  me,  I  fear  your  hands  are  trembling 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

too  much,  Jason,  for  you  to  do  justice  to  it. 
Twenty-five  thousand  dollars!  It  seems  to 
me  I  remember  that  a  similar  sum  once 
passed  between  us.  In  which  direction? 
I  seem  to  have  forgotten — Yes,  strangely 
enough  they  are  quite  correct.  A  modest 
little  fortune,  but  still  something  to  fall 
back  on." 

"And  now  the  paper!"  demanded  my 
uncle. 

"Ah,  to  be  sure,  the  paper,"  said  my 
father,  and  he  swung  from  the  table  where 
he  had  been  sitting,  and  smiled  brightly. 

"I  have  changed  my  mind  about  the 
paper,  Jason,  and  business  presses.  I  fear 
it  is  time  to  end  our  interview." 

"You  mean  you  dare " 

"To  accept  a  sum  from  you  in  payment 
of  damage  you  have  done  my  character? 
I  should  not  dare  to  refuse  it.  Or  let  us  put 
it  this  way,  Jason.  The  paper  is  merely 
drawing  interest.  Positively,  I  cannot  afford 
to  give  it  up." 

The  red  had  risen  again  to  my  uncle's 
face,  giving  his  features  the  color  of  ugly 
magenta.  For  a  moment  I  thought  he  was 
going  to  leap  at  the  slighter  man  before  him, 
but  my  father  never  moved  a  muscle,  only 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

stood  attentively  watching  him,  with  his 
hand  folded  behind  his  back. 

"Show  him  the  door,  Brutus/'  he  said 
briskly,  "and  as  you  go,  Jason,  remember 
this.  I  know  exactly  what  dangers  I  am 
running  without  your  telling  me.  For  that 
reason  I  have  ordered  my  servant  to  keep  a 
fire  burning  in  every  room  I  occupy  in  this 
house.  I  make  a  point  of  sitting  near  these 
fires.  If  you  or  any  of  your  friends  so  much 
as  raise  a  finger  against  me,  the  paper  is 
burned.  And  as  for  you " 

With  a  quick,  delicate  motion,  he  raised  a 
hand,  and  drew  a  finger  lightly  across  his 
throat. 

"And  as  for  you,  Jason,  even  the  slightest 
suspicion  that  you,  or  your  paid  murderers, 
are  interfering  in  any  way  with  my  affairs, 
will  give  me  too  much  pleasure.  I  think  you 
understand.  Pray  don't  make  me  overcome 
with  joy,  Jason;  and  now  I  wish  you  a  very 
good  morning."1 

But  Uncle  Jason  had  recovered  from  the 
first  cold  shock  of  his  surprise.  He  drew 
himself  up  to  his  full  height.  His  jaw, 
heavy  and  cumbersome  always,  thrust  itself 
forward,  and  I  could  see  the  veins  swell 
dangerously  into  a  tangled,  clotted  mass  on 
his  temples.  His  fingers  worked  convul- 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

sively,  as  though  clawing  at  some  unseen 
object  close  beside  him,  and  then  his  breath 
whistled  through  his  teeth. 

"You  fool/'  he  shouted  suddenly,  his 
temper  bursting  the  weakened  barriers  of 
control.  "  You  damned,  unregenerate  fool ! " 

And  then,  for  an  instant,  my  father's  icy 
placidity  left  him.  His  lips  leapt  back  from 
his  teeth.  There  was  a  hissing  whir  of  steel. 
His  small  sword  made  an  arc  of  light  through 
the  yard  of  space  that  parted  them.  His 
body  lunged  forward. 

"So  you  will  have  it,  will  you?"  His 
words  seemed  to  choke  him.  "Take  it, 
then,"  he  roared,  "take  it  to  hell,  where 
you  belong." 

It  was,  I  say,  the  matter  of  an  instant. 
In  a  leaden  second  he  stood  poised,  his  wrist 
drawn  back,  while  the  eyes  of  the  other 
stared  in  horror  at  the  long,  thin  blade. 
And  then  the  welts  of  crimson  that  had 
mounted  to  his  face,  disfiguring  it  into  a 
writhing  fury,  slowly  effaced  themselves. 
His  lips  once  more  assumed  a  thin,  immobile 
line.  Again  his  watchful  indolence  returned 
to  him,  and  slowly,  very  slowly,  he  lowered 
the  point  to  the  floor's  scarred  surface. 
His  voice  returned  to  its  pleasant  modula- 
[108] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE   GENTLEMAN 

tion,  and  with  his  words  returned  his-  icy 
little  smile. 

"Your  pardon,  Jason/*  he  said.  "I  fear 
I  have  been  too  much  myself  this  morning. 
Thank  your  God,  if  you  have  one,  that  I  was 
not  entirely  natural.  Take  him  away, 
Brutus,  he  shall  live  a  little  longer/' 

But  Brutus  had  no  need  to  obey  the 
order.  My  father  stood,  still  smiling,  watch 
ing  the  empty  doorway.  Then  I  realized 
that  I  was  very  cold  and  weak,  and  that  my 
knees  were  sagging  beneath  me.  I  walked 
unsteadily  to  the  table  and  leaned  upon  it 
heavily.  Thoughtfully  my  father  sheathed 
his  small  sword. 


[109] 


IX 

"The  morning  begins  auspiciously,  does 
it  not,  my  son  ?"  he  said.  "And  still  the  day 
is  young.  Indeed,  it  cannot  be  more  than 
eleven  of  the  clock.  The  rum  decanter, 
Brutus." 

The  lines  about  his  mouth  softened  as  his 
gaze  met  mine,  and  his  smile  grew  broader. 

"I  pride  myself,"  he  went  on,  "that  my 
example  is  all  I  promised.  I  fear  I  shall  fall 
down  in  only  one  respect.  Perhaps  you 
have  observed  it?" 

<clf  I  have,"  I  answered,  "I  have  forgot 
ten." 

"My  table  manners,"  he  said.  "I  fear 
they  are  almost  impeccable."  And  he 
walked  over  to  the  window,  taking  care, 
I  noticed,  not  to  stand  in  front  of  it. 

"Sad,  is  it  not,  that  I  should  fail  in  such  a 
trivial  matter?  But  it  happened  so  long 
ago  while  I  was  courting  your  mother,  to 
be  exact.  My  father-in-law,  rest  his  soul, 
was  an  atrocity  at  table.  The  viands,  my 
son,  scattered  from  his  knife  over  the  board, 
like  chaff  before  the  flail.  Yet,  will  you 
believe  it?  Any  time  he  chose  to  speak  his 

[no] 


THE  UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

mouth  was  always  full.  I  watched  him, 
watched  him  with  wonder — <>r  was  it  horror? 
— I  cannot  remember  which.  And  I  re 
solved  to  go,  to  go  anywhere,  but  never  to 
do  likewise.  The  result  today  is  perhaps 
unfortunate.  Yet  watch  me,  my  son,  even 
in  that  you  see  the  practical  value  of  a  bad 
example." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "I  am  watching  you." 

He  seemed  about  to  turn  from  the  win 
dow,  and  then  something  outside  held  his 
attention. 

"Ha!"  he  said.  "A  sloop  is  coming  in — a 
clumsy  looking  vessel.  Whose  is  it,  Henry  ?  " 

I  walked  to  the  window  to  get  a  better 
look,  but  he  reached  out  and  drew  me  near 
him. 

"Let  us  be  careful  of  the  windows  this 
morning.  The  light  is  bad,  and  we  have  very 
much  the  same  figure.  There.  Now  you 
can  see  it — out  by  the  bar.  It  carries  too 
much  canvas  forward  and  spills  half  the 
wind.  Have  you  seen  it  before,  Henry?" 

The  sun  had  been  trying  to  break  through 
the  clouds,  and  a  few  rays  had  crept  out, 
and  glanced  on  the  angry  gray  of  the  water, 
so  that  it  shone  here  and  there  like  scratches 
in  dull  lead.  The  three  ships  near  our  wharf 
were  tossing  fitfully,  and  on  all  three,  the 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

crews  were  busy  with  the  rigging.  Out 
further  towards  the  broad  curve  of  the 
horizon  was  the  white  smear  of  a  sail,  and 
as  I  looked,  I  could  see  the  lines  beneath  the 
canvas.  He  was  right.  It  was  a  sloop, 
running  free  with  the  tide  pushing  her  on. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "I  know  the  boat,  though 
I  do  not  see  why  she  is  putting  in." 

"Ah,"  said  my  father,  "and  do  you  not? 
And  whose  boat  may  she  be,  Henry?" 

"Two  days  ago  she  sailed  from  Boston 
for  France.  She  belongs  to  Jason  Hill," 
I  told  him;  and,  a  little  puzzled,  I  looked 
again  at  the  low  dunes  and  the  marshes  by 
the  harbor  mouth. 

"I  think,"  my  father  murmured  half  to 
himself,  "that  perhaps  after  all  I  should 
have  killed  him.  Brutus!" 

Brutus,  who  had  watched  the  scene  with 
the  same  aloof  politeness  that  he  might  have 
watched  guests  at  the  dinner  table,  moved 
quickly  forward. 

"Has  no  word  come  yet?" 

Brutus  grinned  and  shook  his  head. 

"The  devil,"  said  my  father.  "  Aiken  was 
here  last  evening,  and  got  the  message  I  left 
him?" 

Brutus  nodded,  and  my  father  compressed 
his  lips.  Apparently  deep  in  thought,  he 

[112] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

took  a  few  unhurried  steps  across  the  room, 
and  glanced  about  him  critically. 

"A  busy  day,  my  son/'  he  said,  "a  very 
busy  day,  and  a  humorous  one  as  well. 
They  think  they  can  get  the  paper.  They 
think — but  they  are  all  mistaken." 

"You  are  sure?"  I  inquired. 

"Perfectly,"  said  my  father.  "I  shall 
dispose  of  it  in  my  own  way.  I  am  merely 
waiting  for  the  time." 

"Huh!" 

Brutus  cupped  his  great  hand  behind  his 
ear,  and  nodded  violently.  My  father 
stepped  toward  the  hallway,  and  listened. 
Above  the  hissing  of  the  fire  I  heard  a  voice 
and  footsteps.  He  straightened  the  lace 
about  his  wrists,  and  his  features  lost  their 
strained  attention.  As  he  turned  towards 
Brutus,  he  seemed  younger  and  more 
alertly  active  than  I  had  ever  known  him. 

"Ah,  what  a  day,"  he  said,  "what  a  day, 
to  be  sure.  They  are  coming,  Brutus. 
Gad,  but  the  years  have  been  long  since  I 
have  waited  for  them !  Place  the  glasses  on 
the  table,  Brutus.  We  still  must  be  hos 
pitable." 

The  knocker  on  our  front  door  sent  a 
violent  summons,  but  my  father  did  not 
seem  to  hear  it.  With  graceful  deliberation 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

he  was  filling  six  glasses  from  the  decanter. 
"  Keep  to  the  back  of  the  room,  my  son/' 
he  said,  "and  listen.  Who  do  you  think  is 
coming?  But  you  never  can  guess.  Our 
neighbors,  my  son,  our  neighbors.  First 
your  uncle,  and  then  our  neighbors.  We 
are  holding  a  distinguished  salon,  are  we 


But  before  I  could  answer  or  even  con 
jecture  why  he  should  receive  such  a  visit, 
my  father  gave  a  low  exclamation,  partly 
of  surprise,  and  partly  of  well  concealed 
annoyance,  and  stepped  forward,  bowing 
low.  Mademoiselle,  bright-eyed,  but  very 
pale,  had  run  into  the  morning  room. 

"The  paper,  captain,"  she  cried,  "are 
they  coming  for  the  paper?  For,  if  they  are, 
they  shall  not  have  it.  You  -  " 

My  father  looked  at  her  sharply,  almost 
suspiciously. 

"How  are  you  here?"  he  demanded 
quickly,  "Did  not  Brutus  lock  your  door?" 

"The  lock  was  very  rusty,"  she  answered. 

"Indeed?"  said  my  father,  "And  how 
long  ago  did  you  find  it  out?" 

"Only  a  minute  back,"  she  said,  and 
again  he  glanced  at  her  narrowly,  and 
finally  shrugged  his  shoulders.  As  I  look 
back  on  it,  it  was  his  first  mistake. 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"Then  I  fear  you  have  not  seen  much  of 
the  house,"  he  said  suavely,  but  she  dis 
regarded  his  remark. 

"Pray  do  not  be  alarmed,  my  lady/' 
"At  almost  any  time  I  am  glad  to  see  you, 
but  just  at  present — "  he  raised  his  voice  to 
drown  the  din  of  the  knocker — "just  at 
present  your  appearance,  I  fear,  is  a  trifle 
indiscreet.  It  is  not  the  paper  they  wish, 
Mademoiselle.  It  is  merely  myself,  your 
humble  servant,  they  require.  But  pray 
calm  yourself  and  rest  assured  they  shall 
get  neither.  Let  in  our  callers,  Brutus." 

He  took  her  hand  and  bowed  over  it  very 
low,  and  looked  for  an  instant  into  her 
eyes,  with  a  faint  hint  of  curiosity. 

"And  you?"  she  asked.  "You  have  it 
still?" 

s<  Temporarily,  yes,"  he  answered.  "Show 
Mademoiselle  a  chair,  my  son,  over  there 
behind  me,  where  you  both  can  witness  the 
little  drama.  Perhaps  it  is  as  well  she  came, 
after  all." 

Brutus  had  not  forgotten  his  days  as  a 
house  servant.  Erect  and  uncompromising 
he  entered  the  room,  facing  toward  us  by 
the  door. 

"Mr.    Penfield!"    he    called.     "Captain 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

Tracy!  Captain  Brown!  Major  Proctor! 
Mr.  Lane!  Captain  Dexter!" 

"So,"  said  Major  Proctor,  "you  still  have 
your  damned  party  manners. " 

They  had  entered  the  room,  and  stood  in  a 
group  before  my  father.  Their  faces  were 
set  grimly.  Their  manner  was  stern  and 
uncompromising,  as  befitted  men  of  unim 
peachable  position  and  integrity.  As  I 
watched  them,  I  still  was  wondering  at  their 
errand.  Why  should  they,  of  all  people 
have  paid  this  call?  There  was  not  one 
who  did  not  own  his  ships  and  counting 
house,  not  one  who  was  not  a  leading  trader 
in  our  seaport.  In  all  the  years  I  had 
known  them,  not  one  had  looked  at  me,  or 
given  me  a  civil  word,  and  indeed,  they 
had  little  reason  to  give  one.  And  yet, 
here  they  were  calling  on  my  father. 

It  was  an  odd  contradiction  of  the  lesson 
books  that  of  all  the  men  in  the  room,  he 
should  appear  the  most  prepossessing. 
Though  many  of  them  were  younger,  his 
clothes  were  more  in  fashion,  and  time  had 
touched  him  with  a  lighter  hand.  If  I  had 
come  on  them  all  as  strangers,  I  should  have 
expected  kindness  and  understanding  from 
him  first  of  any.  His  forehead  was  broader, 
and  his  glance  was  keener.  Indeed,  there 

[116] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

was  none  who  looked  more  the  gentleman. 
There  was  no  man  who  could  have  displayed 
more  perfect  courtesy  in  his  gravely  polite 
salute. 

"This,"  said  my  father,  smiling,  "is 
indeed  a  pleasure.  I  had  hoped  for  this 
honor,  and  yet  the  years  have  so  often 
disappointed  me  that  I  had  only  hoped." 

Captain  Tracy,  short  and  squat,  his  hands 
held  out  in  the  way  old  sailors  have,  as 
though  ready  instinctively  to  grasp  some 
rope  or  bulwark,  thrust  a  bull  neck  forward, 
and  peered  at  my  father  with  little,  red 
dened  eyes,  opened  in  wide  incredulity. 

"You  what?"  he  demanded  hoarsely. 

"I  said,  Captain  Tracy,  that  I  hoped," — 
and  my  father  helped  himself  to  snuff — 
"Will  you  be  seated,  gentlemen?" 

"No,"  said  Major  Proctor. 

"I  have  always  noted,"  my  father  re 
marked,  "that  standing  is  better  for  the 
figure.  The  climate,  Major,  has  agreed  with 
you." 

Major  Proctor  launched  on  a  savage  re 
joinder,  but  Mr.  Penfield  leaned  towards 
him  with  a  whispered  admonition. 

"I  take  it,"  he  said  to  my  father,  "that 
you  did  not  read  our  letter.  You  made  a 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

mistake,  Mr.  Shelton,  a  grave  mistake,  in 
not  doing  so." 

"I  am  fond  of  reading,"  said  my  father, 
"and  I  found  your  letter — pardon  my  rude 
ness — but  I  must  be  frank — I  found  your 
letter  most  amusing." 

Mr.  Lane  stretched  a  claw-like  hand 
toward  him. 

"You  always  did  laugh,"  he  cried  shrilly. 

"Never  now,  Mr.  Lane,"  replied  my 
father.  "Yet  I  must  admit,  if  laughter 
were  my  habit — "  he  paused  and  surveyed 
Mr.  Lane's  pinched  and  bony  figure. 

"You  found  the  letter  amusing,  eh?" 
snapped  Captain  Tracy.  "You  found  it 
funny  when  we  ordered  you  out  of  this 
town,  did  you?  I  suppose  you  thought  we 
were  joking,  eh?  Well,  by  Gad,  we  weren't, 
and  that's  what  we've  come  to  tell  you. 
Heaven  help  us  if  we  don't  see  you  out  on 
a  rail,  you  damned " 

"Gently,  gently,"  interjected  Mr.  Pen- 
field,  in  a  soothing  tone.  "Let  us  not  use 
any  harder  words  than  necessary.  Mr. 
Shelton  will  agree  with  us,  I  am  sure. 
Mr.  Shelton  did  not  understand.  Perhaps 
Mr.  Shelton  has  forgotten." 

"My  memory,"  said  my  father,  "still 
remains  unimpaired.  I  recall  the  last  time 

[118] 


THE   UNSPEAKALBE  GENTLEMAN 

I  saw  you  was  some  ten  years  ago  in  this 
very  house.  I  recall  at  the  time  you  warned 
me  never  to  return  here.  In  some  ways, 
perhaps,  you  were  right,  and  yet  at  present 
I  find  my  residence  here  most  expedient. 
Indeed,  I  find  it  quite  impossible  to  leave. 
Frankly,  gentlemen,  the  house  is  watched, 
and  it  is  as  much  as  my  life  is  worth  to 
stir  outside  the  doors." 

"Good  God!"  cried  Mr.  Lane,  in  the 
shrill  voice  that  fitted  him  so  well.  "We 
might  have  known  it!" 

There  was  a  momentary  silence,  and 
Major  Proctor  whispered  in  Mr.  Penfield's 
ear. 

"Captain  Shelton,"  said  Mr.  Penfield, 
"I  see  your  son  and  a  woman  are  in  the 
room.  It  might  be  better  if  you  sent  them 
away.  Your  son,  I  have  heard,  has  learned 
to  behave  himself.  There  is  no  need  for 
him  to  hear  what  we  have  to  say  to  you." 

There  was  a  note  of  raillery  in  his  voice 
that  must  have  offended  my  father. 

"  Mr.  Penfield  is  mistaken.  I  fear  closed 
shutters  make  the  room  a  trifle  dark  to  see 
clearly.  It  is  a  lady,  Mr.  Penfield,  who  is 
with  us." 

Captain    Tracy    laughed.     My    father's 
and  dropped  to  his  side.    For  a  moment 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

no  one  spoke.  Captain  Tracy  moved  his 
head  half  an  inch  further  forward. 

"Well?"  he  asked. 

"Let  us  leave  the  matter  for  a  moment," 
said  my  father.  "It  can  wait.  Pray  con 
tinue,  Mr.  Penfield.  My  son  will  be  glad 
to  listen." 

Mr.  Penfield  cleared  his  throat,  and 
looked  at  the  others  uncertainly. 

"Go  on,  Penfield,"  said  the  Major. 

"Mr.  Shelton,"  began  Mr.  Penfield  stiffly, 
"ten  years  ago  you  were  a  gentleman." 

"Could  it  have  been  possible?"  said  my 
father  with  a  bow. 

"Ten  years  ago  you  were  a  man  that 
every  one  of  us  here  trusted  and  respected, 
a  friend  of  several.  In  the  War  of  the 
Revolution  you  conducted  yourself  like  a 
man  of  honor.  You  equipped  your  own  brig 
with  a  letter  of  marque,  and  sailed  it  your 
self  off  Jamaica.  You  fought  in  three  en 
gagements.  You  displayed  a  daring  and 
bravery  which  we  once  admired." 

"Could  it  have  been  possible?"  my  father 
bowed  again.  "I  do  recall  I  failed  to  stay 
at  home,"  he  added,  bowing  again  to  Mr. 
Penfield. 

Mr.  Penfield  frowned,  and  continued  a 
little  more  quickly: 

[120] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"And  when  you  did  return,  you  engaged 
in  the  China  trade.  You  were  a  successful 
man,  Mr.  Shelton.  We  looked  upon  you 
as  one  of  the  more  brilliant  younger  men  of 
our  seaport.  We  trusted  you,  Captain 
Shelton." 

"Could  it  have  been  possible!"  exclaimed 
my  father. 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Penfield  in  a  louder 
tone,  "we  trusted  you.  You  have  only  to 
look  at  your  books,  if  you  have  kept  them, 
to  remember  that." 

"My  books,"  said  my  father,  "still  con 
trive  to  balance." 

"In  the  year  1788,"  Mr.  Penfield  went 
on,  "you  remember  that  year,  do  you  not? 
In  that  year  the  six  of  us  here  engaged  in  a 
venture.  From  the  north  we  had  carried 
here  five  hundred  bales  of  fur,  valued  at 
fifty  dollars  to  the  bale.  You  contracted 
with  us,  Captain  Shelton,  to  convey  those 
bales  to  England.  It  would  have  been  a  nice 
piece  of  business,  if  your  supercargo  had  not 
been  an  honest  man.  He  knew  you,  Shelton, 
if  we  did  not.  He  knew  the  game  you  had 

Elanned  to  play,  and  though  he  was  your 
rother-in-law,  he  was  man  enough  to  stop 
it." 

Mr.  PenfiekTs  voice  had  risen,  so  that  it 

[121] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

rang  through  the  room,  and  his  words  fol 
lowed  each  other  in  cold  indictment.  The 
others  stood  watching  my  father  with 
strained  attention. 

"Indeed,"  he  said. 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Penfield,  "as  you  so 
aptly  put  it — indeed.  Your  ship  carrying 
that  consignment,  had  Jason  Hill  as  super 
cargo,  and  Ned  Aiken,  that  damned  para 
site  of  yours,  as  master.  A  day  out  from 
this  port,  a  plank  sprung  aft,  which  obliged 
him  to  put  back  to  Boston  for  repairs. 
The  cargo  was  trans-shipped.  When  it 
was  aboard  again,  Jason  Hill  happened  to 
examine  that  cargo.  The  furs  had  gone. 
In  their  place  five  hundred  bales  of  chips 
had  been  loaded  in  the  hold.  He  went  to 
the  master  for  an  explanation.  Mr.  Aiken, 
who  had  been  drinking  heavily,  was  asleep 
in  the  cabin,  and  on  the  table  beside  him 
was  a  letter,  Shelton.  You  remember  that 
letter?  It  bore  instructions  from  you  to 
scuttle  that  ship  ten  miles  out  of  Liverpool 
harbor." 

"And,"  said  my  father,  with  another  bow, 
"I  was  to  collect  the  insurance.  It  was 
nicely  planned." 

"If  you  remember  that,  you  recall  what 
happened  next.  We  called  on  you,  Shelton, 

[122] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

and  accused  you  of  what  you  had  done. 
You  neither  confirmed  nor  denied  it.  We 
told  you  then  to  leave  the  town.  We  warned 
you  never  to  return.  We  warned  you  that 
we  were  through  with  your  trickery.  We 
were  through  with  your  cheating  and  your 
thieving.  We  warned  you,  Shelton,  and 
now  you're  back,  back,  by  your  own  con 
fession,  on  another  rogue's  errand." 

"Not  on  another's,"  my  father  objected 
mildly.  "One  of  my  own,  Mr.  Penfield. 
The  experience  you  have  outlined  so  lucidly 
convinced  me  that  it  was  better  to  stick 
closely  to  my  own  affairs." 

"Mr.  Shelton,"  Mr.  Penfield  went  on, 
regardless  of  the  interruption,  "we  warned 
you  yesterday  to  leave  the  town  before 
nightfall,  and  you  have  failed  to  take  our 
advice." 

"I  see  no  reason  why  I  should  leave," 
replied  my  father  easily.  "  I  am  comfortable 
here  for  the  moment.  I  would  not  be  out 
side.  Even  the  arguments  you  have  given 
are  specious.  You  got  your  furs  back,  and 
if  I  recall,  they  proved  to  be  so  badly  moth 
eaten  that  they  were  not  fit  for  any  trade." 

"Even  though  you  see  no  reason,"  said 
Major  Proctor  smoothly,  "you  are  going 
to  leave,  Shelton.  You  are  going  to  leave  in 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

one  hour.  If  you  delay  a  minute  later,  we 
will  come  with  friends  who  will  know  how 
to  handle  you.  We  will  come  in  an  hour  with 

tar  pot  and  a  feather  mattress." 

"You  are  not  only  unwelcome  to  us  on 
account  of  your  past,"  said  Mr.  Penfield, 
"  but  more  recent  developments  make  it 
impossible,  quite  impossible  for  you  to  stay. 
We  have  heard  your  story  already  from  Mr. 
Jason  Hill.  You  are  right  that  it  is  no 
concern  of  ours,  except  that  we  remember 
the  good  of  this  town.  We  have  a  business 
with  France,  and  we  cannot  afford  to  lose 
it.  Major  Proctor  was  blunt  just  now,  and 
yet  he  is  right.  Give  us  credit  for  warning 
you,  at  least.  You  will  go,  of  course?" 

My  father  smiled  again,  and  smoothed 
the  wrinkles  of  his  coat.  For  some  reason 
the  scene  seemed  vastly  pleasant.  He 
shrugged  his  shoulders  in  a  deprecatory 
gesture,  walked  over  to  the  table,  and 
lifted  up  a  glass  of  rum. 

"I  remarked  before  that  I  was  quite 
comfortable  here,"  he  replied  after  a  mo 
ment's  pause.  "I  may  add  that  I  am 
amused.  Since  I  have  returned  to  the 
ancestral  roof,  and  looked  again  at  the  por 
traits  of  my  family,  I  have  had  many  callers 
to  entertain  me.  Two  have  tried  to  rob  me. 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

One  has  threatened  me  with  death.  And 
now  six  come,  and  threaten  me  with  tar  and 
feathers.  Positively,  it  is  too  diverting  to 
leave.  Pray  don't  interrupt  me,  Captain 
Tracy.  In  a  moment  you  shall  have  the 
floor." 

He  took  a  sip  from  his  rum  glass,  watching 
them  over  the  brim.  And  then  he  continued, 
slowly  and  coldly,  yet  turning  every  period 
with  a  perfect  courtesy: 

"There  is  one  thing,  only  one,  that  you 
and  all  my  other  callers  appear  to  have 
overlooked.  You  fail  for  some  reason  to 
realize  that  I  do  things  only  of  my  own  voli 
tion.  It  is  eccentric,  I  know,  but  we  all 
have  our  failings." 

He  paused  to  place  his  glass  daintily  on 
the  table,  and  straightened  the  lace  at  his 
wrist  with  careful  solicitude. 

"Once  before  this  morning  I  have  stated 
that  I  am  not  particularly  afraid  of  any 
thing.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  this  state 
ment  still  applies.  Or  put  it  this  way, — I 
have  grown  blase.  People  have  threatened 
me  too  often.  No,  gentlemen,  you  are 
going  to  lose  your  trading  privileges,  I 
think.  And  I  am  going  to  remain  in  my 
house  quite  as  long  as  I  choose." 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"Which  will  be  one  hour,"  said  Major 
Proctor. 

"Be  careful,  Major,"  said  my  father. 
"You  have  grown  too  stout  to  risk  your 
words.  Do  you  care  to  know  why  I  am 
going  to  remain?" 

No  one  answered. 

"Then  I  will  tell  you,"  he  went  on. 
"Three  of  my  ships  are  in  the  harbor,  and 
times  are  troublesome  at  sea.  They  are 
armed  with  heavy  metal,  and  manned  by 
quite  as  reckless  and  unpleasant  a  lot  of 
men  as  I  have  ever  beheld  on  a  deck.  Be 
tween  them  they  have  seventeen  guns  of 
varying  calibre,  and  there  is  powder  in 
their  magazines.  Do  I  need  to  go  any 
further,  or  do  we  understand  each  other?" 

"No,"  snapped  Captain  Tracy  hoarsely. 
"I'm  damned  if  we  do." 

"It  sounds  crude,  as  I  say  it,"  he  con 
tinued  apologetically,  "  and  yet  true,  never 
theless.  As  soon  as  I  see  anyone  of  you,  or 
any  of  my  other  neighbors  enter  my  grounds 
again,  I  shall  order  my  ships  to  tack  down 
the  river,  and  open  fire  on  the  town.  They 
have  sail  ready  now,  gentlemen.  My  ser 
vant  has  gone  already  to  carry  them  my 
order." 

"And  you'll  hang  for  piracy  tomorrow 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

morning,"  laughed  the  Major  harshly. 
"Shelton,  you  have  grown  mad." 

"  Exactly/'  said  my  father  gently.  "  Mad, 
Major.  Mad  enough  to  put  my  threat  into 
effect  in  five  minutes,  if  you  do  not  leave 
this  house;  mad  enough  to  scuttle  every 
ship  in  this  harbor;  mad  enough  to  set 
your  warehouses  in  flames;  mad  enough 
even  to  find  the  company  of  you  and  your 
friends  most  damnably  dull  and  wearisome; 
mad  enough  to  wonder  why  I  ever  suffered 
you  to  remain  so  long  beneath  my  roof; 
mad  enough  to  believe  you  a  pack  of  curs 
and  cowards,  and  mad  enough  to  treat  you 
as  such.  Keep  off,  Tracy,  you  bloated 
fool!" 

"By  God!"  Captain  Tracy  shouted, 
"We'll  burn  this  house  over  your  head. 
In  an  hour  we'll  have  you  shot  against  the 
town  hall." 

"Perhaps,"  said  my  father,  "and  yet  I 
doubt  it.  Pray  remember  that  I  keep  my 
word.  Your  hats  are  in  the  hall,  gentlemen. 
In  three  minutes  now  my  ships  weigh 
anchor.  If  you  do  not  go,  I  cannot  stop 
them." 

Mr.  Penfield  had  grown  a  trifle  pale. 
"Captain  Shelton,"  he  demanded  slowly, 
"are  you  entirely  serious?  I  almost  believe 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

you  are.  Of  course  you  understand  the 
conseqences?" 

"Perfectly,"  said  my  father. 

"Let  us  go,  gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Pen- 
field.  "You  will  hear  from  us  later."  And 
he  turned  quickly  towards  the  hall. 

As  he  did  so,  my  father  drew  back  his 
right  arm,  and  drove  his  fist  into  Captain 
Tracy's  upturned  face.  His  blow  was  well 
directed,  for  the  captain  staggered  and  fell. 
In  almost  the  same  motion  he  wheeled  on 
Major  Proctor,  who  had  started  back,  and 
was  tugging  at  his  sword. 

"  Later,  perhaps,  Major,"  he  said,  without 
even  lifting  his  voice.  "But  today  I  am 
busy.  Pray  take  him  away.  He  was  always 
indiscreet.  And  you,"  he  added  to  Mr. 
Lane,  "surely  you  know  well  enough  not  to 
try  conclusions  with  me.  Take  him  away. 
Your  hats  are  in  the  hall.  I  shall  show  you 
the  door  myself.  After  you,  gentlemen." 

And  he  followed  them,  closing  the  door 
gently  behind  him. 


X 

Mademoiselle,  who  had  risen  from  her 
chair,  where  she  had  listened,  only  half 
understanding  the  conversation  in  a  tongue 
foreign  from  hers,  stared  at  the  closed  door, 
her  lips  parted,  and  her  forehead  wrinkled. 

"What  have  they  been  saying?"  she 
asked.  "Why  are  they  afraid?  Is  everyone 
afraid  of  this  father  of  yours?" 

And  then,  impulsively,  she  seized  me  by 
the  arm. 

"  But  it  makes  no  difference.  Come,  it  is 
our  one  chance;  come  quickly,  Monsieur. 
I  must  speak  to  you,  where  he  will  not  dis 
turb  us." 

"But  where?"  I  asked,  still  staring 
straight  before  me;  and  then  I  noticed  a 
bolt  on  the  morning  room  door.  I  sprang 
toward  it  and  drew  it  hastily.  "It  will  do 
no  good  to  talk,  Mademoiselle.  If  you  had 

understood "  And  as  I  spoke,  the 

enormity  of  the  thing  loomed  still  larger 
before  me. 

"Mademoiselle,  this  morning  he  has 
robbed  my  uncle  of  a  fortune,  snatched  it 
from  him  here  in  this  very  room,  and  now 

' 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

he  has  threatened  to  move  his  ships  into 
midstream,  and  to  open  fire  on  the  town! 
And  Mademoiselle,  he  means  to  do  it. 
I  thought  once — but  he  means  to  do  it, 
Mademoiselle." 

She  pursed  her  lips,  and  looked  at  me 
from  the  corner  of  her  eye. 

"Pouf!"  she  said.  "So  you  are  growing 
frightened  also.  Yet  I  can  understand. 
The  Marquis  always  said  that  Captain 
Shelton  could  frighten  the  devil  himself." 

"Frightened!"  I  echoed,  and  the  blood 
rushed  into  my  cheeks. 

"Mon  Dieu!  Perhaps  you  are  not. 
Listen,  Monsieur,  I  am  not  taunting  you. 
I  am  not  saying  he  will  not.  He  is  serious, 
Monsieur,  and  you  must  leave  him  alone, 
or  perhaps  I  shall  not  get  the  paper  after  all, 
and  remember,  I  must  have  it.  My  brother 
must  have  it,  and  he  shall,  only  you  must 
not  disturb  him.  He  may  shoot  at  the 
town,  if  he  cares  to,  or  murder  your  uncle. 
He  has  often  spoken  of  it  at  Blanzy,  but 
the  paper  is  another  matter.  You  must 
leave  it  to  me." 

"To  you!"  I  cried. 

"Precisely,"  said  Mademoiselle.  "You — 
what  can  you  do?  You  are  young.  You 

[  130] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

are  inexperienced.  Pardon  me,  but  you 
would  be  quite  ineffective." 

My  cheeks  flamed  again.  Somehow  no 
sarcasm  of  my  father's  had  bitten  as  deep 
as  those  last  words  of  hers.  I  do  not  know 
whether  it  was  chagrin  or  anger  that  I  felt 
at  the  bitter  sense  of  my  own  futility. 
And  she  had  seen  it  all.  As  coldly  and  as 
accurately  as  my  father,  she  had  watched 
me,  and  as  coldly  she  had  given  her  verdict. 
She  was  watching  me  now  with  a  cool, 
confident  smile  that  made  me  turn  away. 

"Ah,"  she  said,  "I  have  hurt  you,  and 
believe  me,  I  did  not  mean  to." 

Something  in  the  polite  impersonality  of 
her  voice  gave  me  a  vague  resentment. 
She  had  moved  nearer,  and  yet  I  could  not 
meet  her  glance. 

"I  am  sorry"  she  said,  and  paused  ex 
pectantly,  but  I  could  only  stare  at  the 
floor  in  silence. 

"Believe  me,  I  am  sorry." 

It  might  have  been  different  if  I  had 
detected  the  slightest  contrition,  but  in 
stead  I  seemed  only  to  afford  her  mild 
amusement. 

"There  is  no  need  to  be  sorry"  I  replied. 

"Ah,  but   there  is!"   she  said  quickly, 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"Last   night   you   were   very   kind.     Last 
night  you  tried  to  help  me." 

I  seemed  to  see  her  again,  standing  pale 
and  troubled,  while  my  father  watched  her, 
coldly  appraising,  and  Brutus  grinned  at 
at  her  across  the  room. 

"Mademoiselle"  I  began,  "Anything  that 

I  did  last  night " 

"Was  quite  unnecessary,"  she  said,  "And 
very  foolish." 

I  drew  a  sharp  breath.  The  bit  of  gal 
lantry  I  had  on  my  mind  to  speak  seemed 
weak  and  useless  now. 

"Mademoiselle  is  mistaken"  I  lied  smooth 
ly,  "Nothing  that  I  did  last  night  was  on 
her  account." 

"Nothing!"  she  exclaimed  sharply,  "I  do 
not  understand." 

"No,  nothing,"  I  said,  "Pray  believe  me, 
anything  I  did,  however  foolish,  was  solely 
for  myself.  I  have  my  own  affair  to  settle 
with  my  father." 

"Bah!"  cried  Mademoiselle,  tapping  her 
foot  on  the  floor,  and  oddly  enough  my 
reply  seemed  to  have  made  her  angry,  "So 
you  are  like  all  the  rest  of  them,  stupid, 
narrow,  calculating!" 

"If  Mademoiselle   will   only   listen,"   I 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

began,  strangely  puzzled  and  singularly 
contrite. 

"Listen  to  you!"  she  cried,  "No,  Mon 
sieur,  I  have  listened  to  you  quite  long 
enough  to  know  your  type.  I  see  now  you 
are  quite  what  I  thought  you  would  be. 
I  say  you  are  entirely  ineffective,  and  must 
leave  your  father  alone.  You  do  not  under 
stand  him.  You  do  not  even  know  him. 
With  me  it  is  different.  I  have  seen  the 
world.  He  is  temperamental,  your  father, 
a  genius  in  his  way,  and  a  little  mad,  per 
haps.  Leave  him  to  me,  Monsieur,  and  it 
will  be  quite  all  right.  Last  night,  it  was  so 
sudden,  that  I  was  frightened  for  a  moment. 
I  should  have  remembered  he  is  erratic  and 
apt  to  change  his  mind.  I  should  have 
guessed  why  he  changed  it.  It  is  you,  Mon 
sieur.  You  have  had  a  bad  effect  upon  him. 
You  have  made  him  turn  suddenly  gro 
tesque.  What  did  you  do  to  him  last 
evening?" 

"Do  to  him?"  I  asked,  stupidly  enough. 
"Why,  nothing.  I  listened  to  him,  Made 
moiselle,  just  as  I  have  been  listening  to  him 
all  this  morning." 

"And  yet,"  she  said,  "it  is  your  fault. 
Usually  he  is  most  well  behaved.  He  is 
moderate,  Monsieur.  At  Blanzy  a  glass  of 

1 133 1 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

wine  at  dinner  was  all  he  ever  desired. 
For  days  at  a  time,  I  have  hardly  heard  him 
say  a  word.  The  Marquis  would  call  him 
the  Sphinx,  and  what  has  he  been  doing 
here?  Drinking  bottle  after  bottle,  talking 
steadily,  acting  outrageously.  What  is 
more,  he  has  been  doing  so  ever  since  he 
spoke  of  returning  home.  I  tell  you,  Mon 
sieur,  you  must  keep  away  from  him,  or 
perhaps  he  will  'do  with  the  paper  exactly 
what  he  says.  Pray  do  not  scowl.  Laugh, 
Monsieur,  it  is  funny." 

"Funny?"  I  exclaimed,  as  stupidly  as 
before.  Mademoiselle  sighed. 

"If  the  Marquis  had  only  lived — how  he 
would  have  laughed.  It  was  odd,  the  sense 
of  humor  of  the  Marquis.  Strange  how 
much  alike  they  were,  the  Marquis  and 
your  father." 

"It  is  pleasant  that  Mademoiselle  and 
I  should  have  something  in  common,"  I  said. 

Her  gaze  grew  very  soft  and  far  away. 

"Not  as  much  as  they  had.  We  never 
shall.  I  think  it  was  because  they  both  were 
embittered  with  life,  both  a  trifle  tired  and 
cynical.  My  father  thought  there  should 
be  a  king  of  France,  and  yet  I  think  he 
knew  there  could  not  be  one.  Your  father — 
it  is  another  story." 

[134] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"Quite,"  I  agreed.  "And  yet  Made 
moiselle  will  pardon  me — I  fail  to  see  what 
they  had  in  common." 

"You  say  that,"  said  Mademoiselle, 
"because  you  do  not  know  him  as  well  as 
I  do.  Do  you  not  see  that  he  is  a  bitter, 
disappointed  man?  They  were  both  disap 
pointed." 

I  examined  the  bolt  on  the  door,  and 
found  it  firm,  despite  its  age.  I  glanced 
over  the  long,  low  studded  room,  and  moved 
a  chair  from  the  center  to  a  place  nearer  the 
wall.  Her  glance  followed  me  inquiringly, 
but  I  forestalled  her  question. 

"Mademoiselle,"  I  observed,  "was  point 
ing  out  that  she  found  something  droll  in 
the  situation." 

"And  is  it  not  droll  you  should  have 
changed  him?"  she  inquired,  and  yet  I 
thought  she  looked  around  uneasily.  "You 
have,  Monsieur.  He  was  cautious  before 
this.  He  foresaw  everything.  He  was 
willing  to  risk  nothing.  He  even  warned 
the  Marquis  against  attacking  the  coach." 

I  began  to  perceive  why  the  Marquis 
honored  my  father  with  his  friendship. 

"Was  attacking  coaches  a  frequent  habit 
of  the  Marquis?"  I  asked. 

[135] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"Has  he  not  told  you?"  she  exclaimed, 
raising  her  eyebrows. 

"One  would  hardly  call  our  conversation 
confidential/'  I  explained.  "Is  that  what 
you  find  so  droll?" 

And  indeed,  she  seemed  in  a  rare  good 
humor,  and  inexplicably  gay.  A  curious 
Mona  Lisa  smile  kept  bending  her  lips  and 
twinkling  in  her  eyes.  The  lowering  clouds 
outside,  the  creakings  of  the  beams  and 
rafters  under  the  east  wind,  nor  even  the 
drab  gloom  of  her  surroundings  seemed  to 
dampen  her  sudden  access  of  good  nature. 
The  events  she  had  witnessed  seemed  also 
to  please  her.  Was  it  spite  that  had  made 
her  smile  when  she  watched  my  father  and 
his  visitors?  Was  it  spite  that  made  her 
smile  now,  as  she  gazed  at  the  room's 
battered  prosperity,  and  at  my  grandfather's 
portrait  above  the  mantlepiece,  in  the 
unruffled  dignity  of  its  blackening  oils? 

"It  was  the  coach,"  said  Mademoiselle, 
"of  Napoleon  at  Montmareuil.  A  dozen 
of  them  set  upon  the  coach.  The  lead 
horses  were  killed,  and  in  an  instant  they 
were  at  the  doors.  They  flung  them  open, 
but  he  was  not  inside.  Instead,  the  coach 
was  filled  with  the  consular  police.  The 
paper,  the  paper  they  had  signed,  was  at 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

Blanzy,  and  your  father  had  agreed  to 
rescue  it  in  case  of  accident.  He  would  not 
leave  me,  Monsieur,  and  he  would  not 
destroy  the  paper/' 

She  paused,  and  regarded  me  with  a 
frown  that  had  more  of  curiosity  in  it  than 
displeasure. 

"It  was  all  well  enough,"  she  added, 
"until  he  heard  of  you,  until  you  and  he 
had  dinner.  It  is  something  you  did,  some 
thing  you  said,  that  has  made  it  all  different. 
I  ask  you — what  have  you  done  to  him? 
He  was  our  friend  before  he  saw  you.  Or 
why  would  he  have  ridden  through  half  of 
France  with  Napoleon's  police  a  half  a 
league  behind  him  ?  Why  did  he  risk  every 
thing  to  bring  out  the  paper  when  he  might 
have  burned  it?  Why  did  he  not  sell  it 
there  ?  He  might  have  done  so  half  a  dozen 
times.  Why  does  he  wait  till  now? 

"Do  you  know  what  I  would  say  if  you 
were  older  and  less  transparent?  Do  you 
know?;' 

An  imperious,  ringing  note  had  entered 
into  her  voice,  which  made  me  regard  her 
with  a  sudden  doubt.  About  her  was  the 
same  charm  and  mystery  that  had  held  me 
silent  and  curious,  the  same  unnatural 
assurance,  and  cold  disregard  of  her  sur- 

[137] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

foundings;  but  her  eyes  had  grown  watchful 
and  unfriendly. 

"I  would  say  that  you  had  turned  him 
against  us,  and  if  you  had " 

"Mademoiselle  is  overwrought,"  I  said. 

She  tapped  her  foot  on  the  floor  impa 
tiently,  and  compressed  her  lips. 

"I  am  never  overwrought,"  said  Made 
moiselle.  "It  is  a  luxury  my  family  has  not 
been  allowed  for  many  years.  I  say  your 
father  was  an  honest  man,  as  men  go,  and 
a  brave  one  too,  and  that  you  have  changed 
him,  and  I  warn  you  to  leave  him  alone  in 
the  future.  You  do  not  know  him,  or  how 
to  deal  with  him.  I  tell  you  his  trifling 
about  the  paper  is  a  passing  phase,  and  that 
you  must  not  disturb  him.  No,  no,  do  not 
protest.  I  know  well  enough  you  are  not 
to  blame.  You  must  leave  him  to  me. 
That  is  all." 

"It  pains  me  not  to  do  as  Mademoiselle 
suggests,"  I  said. 

"You  mean  you  will  not?"  she  flashed 
back  at  me  angrily. 

"I  mean  I  will  not,"  I  answered  with 
sudden  heat,  "No,"  I  added  more  harshly, 
as  she  attempted  to  interrupt,  "Now  you 
will  listen  to  me.  You  say  I  am  a  fool. 
You  say  I  can  do  nothing  against  him. 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

Perhaps  not.  Mademoiselle,  but  what  I  see 
is  this:  I  see  you  in  a  dangerous  situation 
through  no  fault  of  your  own,  and  whether 
you  wish  it  or  not,  I  am  going  to  get  you 
out  of  it.  He  has  done  enough,  Mademoi 
selle,  and  this  is  going  to  be  the  end.  By 
heaven,  if  he  looks  at  you  again " 

"But  you  said — "  she  interrupted. 

I  did  not  have  the  chance  to  continue,  for 
a  hand  was  trying  the  latch  of  the  door,  and 
then  a  sharp  knock  interrupted  me.  My 
father  was  standing  on  the  threshold.  With 
a  smile  and  a  nod  to  me,  he  entered,  and 
proceeded  to  the  center  of  the  room,  while 
I  closed  the  door  behind  him,  and  bolted  it 
again.  If  he  noticed  my  action,  he  did  not 
choose  to  comment.  Instead,  he  continued 
towards  the  chair  where  Mademoiselle  was 
seated. 

"I  had  hoped  that  you  might  get  along 
more  pleasantly,  you  and  my  son/'  he  ob 
served.  "  Surely  he  has  points  in  his  favor — 
youth,  candor,  even  a  certain  amount  of 
breeding.  You  have  been  hard  on  him, 
Mademoiselle.  Take  my  word  for  it — he  is 
to  blame  for  nothing." 

"So  you  have  been  listening,"  she  said. 

"As  doubtless  Mademoiselle  expected," 
said  my  father.  "I  had  hoped " 

[139] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"And  so  had  I,"  I  said. 

He  turned  and  faced  me. 

"Hoped,"  I  continued,  raising  my  voice, 
"that  you  might  enter  here,  and  leave  your 
servant  somewhere  else.  I  have  wanted  to 
have  a  quiet  talk  with  you  this  morning/' 

If  he  noted  anything  unusual  in  my 
request,  he  did  not  show  it,  not  so  much  as 
by  a  flicker  of  an  eyelash. 

"It  has  hardly  been  opportune  for  con 
versation,"  he  admitted.  "But  now,  as 
you  say,  Brutus  is  gone.  He  is  out  to  receive 
a  message  I  am  expecting,  which  can  hardly 
be  delivered  at  the  front  door.  You  were 
saying — Doubtless  Mademoiselle  will  par 
don  us " 

"Mademoiselle,"  I  went  on,  "will  even 
be  interested.  I  have  wanted  to  speak  to 
you  so  that  I  might  explain  myself.  Since 
I  have  been  here  I  fear  I  have  been  im- 

Eulsive.    You  must  lay  it  to  my  youth, 
ither." 

He  nodded  a  grave  assent. 
"You  must  not  apologize.    It  has  been 
quite  refreshing." 

"And  yet  I  am  not  so  young.  I  am 
twenty-three." 

"Can    it    be    possible?"    exclaimed    my 
[140] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

father.  "I  had  almost  forgotten  that  I  was 
so  near  the  grave." 

"I  came  to  see  you  here/'  I  continued, 
"because,  as  my  uncle  said,  you  are  my 
father.  I  came  here  because — because  I 
thought — "  I  paused  and  drew  a  deep  breath, 
and  my  father  smiled. 

"Why  I  came  is  aside  from  the  point, 
at  any  rate,"  I  said. 

"Indeed  yes,"  agreed  my  father,  "and 
have  we  not  been  over  the  matter  before?" 

"If  you  had  accorded  me  one  serious 
word,  it  might  have  been  different,"  I  con 
tinued;  "  but  instead,  sir,  you  have  seen  fit  to 
jest.  It  is  not  what  you  have  done  this 
morning,  sir,  as  much  as  your  manner 
towards  me,  which  makes  me  take  this  step. 
That  you  have  brought  a  lady  from  France 
and  robbed  her,  that  you  have  robbed  my 
uncle,  and  have  threatened  to  fire  on  the 
town — somehow  they  seem  no  particular 
affair  of  mine  except  for  this:  You  seem 
to  think  that  I  am  incapable  of  doing  any 
thing  to  hinder  you,  and  frankly,  sir,  this 
hurts  my  pride.  You  feel  that  I  am  going 
to  sit  by  passively  and  watch  you." 

I  came  a  step  nearer,  but  he  did  not  draw 
back.  He  only  continued  watching  me  with 
a  patient  intentness,  which  seemed  gradu- 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

ally  to  merge  into  some  more  active  interest. 
His  interest  deepened  when  I  spoke  again, 
but  that  was  all. 

"You  feel  I  am  going  to  be  still,  and  do 
nothing,  even  after  you  drugged  me  last 
evening.  Did  you  think  I  would  not  resent 
it?  You  are  mistaken,  father." 

My  father  rubbed  his  chin  thoughtfully. 

"I  had  not  thought  of  it  exactly  so,"  he 
said,  "yet  I  had  to  keep  you  quiet." 

"So,  if  the  tables  were  turned,  and  I 
were  you,  and  you  were  I,  you  would  hardly 
let  matters  go  on  without  joining  in?" 

"Hardly,"  he  agreed.  "You  have  thought 
the  matter  out  very  prettily,  my  son.  It  is 
an  angle  I  seem  to  have  neglected.  It  only 
remains  to  ask  what  you  are  going  to  do. 
Let  us  trust  it  will  be  nothing  stupid." 

"I  am  glad  you  understand,"  I  said,  "be 
cause  now  it  will  be  perfectly  clear  why  I 
am  asking  you  for  the  paper,  and  you  will 
appreciate  any  steps  I  may  take  to  get  it." 

He  cast  a  quick  glance  around  the  room, 
and  seemed  satisfied  that  we  were  quite 
alone. 

"Do  I  understand,"  he  inquired,  "that 
you  have  asked  me  for  the  paper?" 

I  nodded,  and  his  voice  grew  thoughtfully 
gentle. 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"You  interest  me/'  he  said.  "I  have  a 
penchant  for  mysteries.  May  I  ask  why  you 
believe  I  shall  give  it  to  you?" 

"I  shall  try  to  show  you,"  I  said,  and 
tossed  aside  my  coat  and  drew  my  small 
sword. 

He  stood  rigid  and  motionless,  and  his 
face  became  more  set  and  expressionless 
than  I  had  ever  seen  it;  but  before  he  could 
speak,  Mademoiselle  had  sprung  between  us. 

"You  fool!"  she  cried.  "Put  up  your 
sword.  Will  you  not  be  quiet  as  I  told  you?" 

"Be  seated,  Mademoiselle,"  said  my 
father  gently.  "Where  are  your  senses, 
Henry?  Can  you  not  manage  without 
creating  a  scene?  Put  up  your  sword.  I 
cannot  draw  against  you." 

Mademoiselle,  paler  than  I  had  seen  her 
before,  sank  back  into  her  chair. 

"I  am  sorry  you  find  yourself  unable," 
I  said,  "because  I  shall  attack  you  in  any 
event." 

"What  can  you  be  thinking  of?"  my 
father  remonstrated.  "Engage  me  with  a 
small  sword?  It  is  incredible." 

"  I  have  been  waiting  almost  twelve  hours 
for  the  opportunity,"  I  replied.  "Pray  put 
yourself  on  guard,  father." 

His  stony  look  of  repression  had  left  him. 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

The  lines  about  his  mouth  relaxed  again. 
For  a  moment  I  thought  the  gaze  he  bent 
upon  me  was  almost  kindly.  Then  he  sighed 
and  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  began 
slowly  to  unwind  a  handkerchief  which  he 
had  tied  about  his  right  hand,  disclosing 
several  cuts  on  his  knuckles. 

"I  forgot  that  Captain  Tracy  might  have 
teeth,"  he  said.  "Positively,  my  son,  you 
become  disappointing.  I  had  given  you 
credit  for  more  imagination,  and  instead  you 
think  you  can  match  your  sword  against 
mine.  Pray  do  not  interrupt,  Mademoi 
selle,"  he  added,  turning  to  her  with  a  bow, 
"it  will  be  quite  nothing,  and  we  have 
neither  of  us  had  much  exercise.'* 

He  paused,  and  carefully  divested  him 
self  of  his  coat,  folding  it  neatly,  and  placing 
it  on  the  table.  When  it  was  placed  to 
advantage,  he  drew  his  sword,  and  tested  its 
point  on  the  floor. 

"Who  knows,"  he  added,  bending  the 
blade,  "perhaps  we  may  have  sport  after 
all.  Lawton  was  never  bad  with  the  foils." 

We  had  only  crossed  swords  long  enough 
for  me  to  feel  the  supple  play  of  his  wrist 
before  I  began  to  press  him.  I  feinted,  and 
disengaged,  and  a  second  later  I  had  lunged 

[  144] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

over  his  guard,  and  had  forced  him  to  give 
back. 

"Mon  Dieu!"  exclaimed  my  father  gaily. 
uYou  surprise  me.  What!  Again?  Damn 
these  chairs!" 

A  fire  of  exultation  leapt  through  me.  I 
grinned  at  my  father  over  the  crossed  blades, 
for  I  could  read  something  in  his  face  that 
steadied  my  hand.  My  best  attack  might 
leave  him  unscathed,  but  I  was  doing  more, 
much  more,  than  he  had  expected.  I  lunged 
again,  and  again  he  stepped  back,  thrusting 
so  quickly  that  I  had  barely  time  to  recover. 

"Excellent!"  said  my  father.  "You  are 
quick,  my  son.  You  even  have  an  eye." 

"Mademoiselle!"  I  called  sharply.  "The 
paper!  In  the  breast  pocket  of  his  coat. 
Take  it  out  and  burn  it." 

"Good  God!"  exclaimed  my  father. 

"You  see,"  I  said,  "I  have  my  points." 

"My  son,"  he  said,  parrying  the  thrust 
with  which  I  ended  my  last  words,  "pray 
accept  my  apologies,  and  my  congratula 
tions.  You  have  a  better  mind  and  a 
better  sword  than  I  could  reasonably  have 
expected.  Indeed,  you  quite  make  me 
extend  myself.  But  you.must  learn  to 
recover  more  quickly,  Henry,  much  more 
quickly.  I  have  seen  too  many  good  men 

1 1451 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

go  down  for  just  that  failing.  It  may  be 
well  enough  against  an  ordinary  swordsman, 
my  son,  or  even  a  moderately  good  one, 
but  as  for  me,  I  could  run  you  through  twice 
over.  Indeed  I  would,  if " 

"The  paper,  Mademoiselle,"  I  called 
again.  "Have  you  got  it?" 

"Exactly,"  said  my  father.  "The  paper. 
If  the  paper  were  in  my  pocket,  you,  my 
son,  would  now  be  in  the  surgeon's  hands. 
The  paper,  however,  is  upstairs  in  my  volume 
of  Rabelais.  And  now " 

His  wrist  suddenly  stiffened.  He  made  a 
feint  at  my  throat,  and  in  the  same  motion 
lowered  his  guard.  As  I  came  on  parade,' 
my  sword  was  wrenched  from  my  grasp. 
At  the  same  time  I  stepped  past  his  point, 
and  seized  him  around  the  waist. 

"You  heard,  Mademoiselle,"  I  cried.4 
"The  door!"  and  we  fell  together. 

My  father  uttered  something  which 
seemed  very  near  a  curse,  and  clutched  at 
my  throat.  I  loosened  my  grasp  to  fend 
away  his  hand,  and  he  broke  away  from  my 
other  arm,  and  sprang  to  his  feet.  Just  as 
he  did  so  there  was  a  blow,  a  splintering  of 
wood.  The  door  was  carried  off  its  hinges,1 
and  Brutus  leapt  beside  him.  The  floor 
had  not  been  clean.  My  father  brushed 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE   GENTLEMAN 

regretfully  at  the  smudges  on  his  cambric 
shirt. 

"My  coat,  if  you  please.  Mademoiselle," 
he  said.  "I  see  you  have  it  in  your  hands. 
Gad,  my  son!  It  was  a  nearer  thing  than  I 
expected.  On  my  word,  I  did  not  know  that 
Brutus  was  back." 

"He  is  like  you,  captain,"  said  Made 
moiselle,  handing  the  coat  to  him.  "You 
are  both  stubborn." 

For  some  reason  I  could  not  fathom,  her 
good  nature  had  returned.  It  was  relief, 
perhaps,  that  made  her  smile  at  us. 

"It  is  a  family  trait,"  returned  my  father. 
r  As  though  kicking  down  the  door  had 
been  a  simple  household  duty,  Brutus 
turned  from  it  with  quiet  passivity,  and 
adjusted  the  folds  of  the  blue  broadcloth 
with  an  equal  thoroughness,  while  my 
father  straightened  the  lace  at  his  wrists. 

"Huh,"  said  Brutus  suddenly.  Then  I 
noticed  that  his  stockings  were  caked  with 
river  mud,  and  that  he  had  evidently  been 
running.  My  father,  forgetful  of  his  coat 
for  the  moment,  whirled  about  and  faced 
him. 

"To  think  I  had  forgotten,"  he  cried. 
"What  news,  you  black  rascal?" 

"Huh,"  said  Brutus  again,  and  handed 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

him  a  spotted  slip  of  paper.  My  father's 
lips  parted.  He  seized  it  with  unusual 
alacrity,  read  it,  and  tossed  it  in  the  fire. 
Then  he  sighed,  like  a  man  from  whose 
mind  a  heavy  weight  of  care  has  been  lifted. 
The  tenseness  seemed  to  leave  his  slim 
figure,  and  for  an  instant  he  looked  as 
though  the  day  had  tired  him,  and  as  though 
another  crisis  were  over. 

"He's  there?"  he  demanded  sharply. 

"Huh,"  said  Brutus.  ^ 

"Now  heaven  be  praised  for  that,"  said 
my  father,  with  something  that  was  a  close 
approach  to  fervor.  "I  was  beginning  to 
wonder  if,  perhaps,  something  had  hap 
pened." 

Mademoiselle  looked  up  at  him  demurely. 

"The  captain  has  good  news?"  she  asked. 

He  turned  to  her  and  smiled  his  blandest 
smile. 

"Under  the  circumstances,"  he  said, 
"the  best  I  could  expect." 

Still  smiling,  he  smoothed  his  coat  and 
squared  his  shoulders. 

"Our  little  melodrama,  my  lady,  is  draw 
ing  to  its  close." 


XI 

The  sun  had  finally  broken  through  the 
clouds,  and  already  its  rays  were  slanting 
into  the  room,  falling  softly  on  the  dusty 
furniture,  and  making  the  shadows  of  the 
vines  outside  dance  fitfully  on  the  wall  by 
the  fire;  and  the  shadows  of  the  elms  were 
growing  long  and  straight  over  the  rain 
soaked  leaves,  and  the  rank,  damp  grass  of 
our  lawn.  It  was  the  dull,  gentle  sunshine 
of  an  autumn  afternoon,  soft  and  kindly, 
and  yet  a  little  bleak. 

"  Yes,"  said  my  father,  "  it  is  nearly  over. 
It  turns  into  a  simple  matter,  after  all.  I 
wonder,  Mademoiselle,  will  you  be  sorry? 
Will  you  ever  recall  our  weeks  on  the  high 
road?  I  shall,  I  think.  And  the  Inn  in 
Britanny,  with  Brutus  up  the  road,  and 
Ned  Aiken  swearing  at  the  post  boys.  At 
least  we  were  living  life.  And  the  Eclipse — I 
told  you  they  would  never  beat  us  on  a  wind 
ward  tack.  I  told  you,  Mademoiselle,  the 
majority  of  mankind  were  very  simple 
people." 

"And  you  still  feel  so?"  she  asked  him. 

[H9] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE   GENTLEMAN 

"Now  more  than  ever,"  said  my  father. 
"I  had  almost  hoped  there  would  be  one 
sane  man  among  the  dozens  outside,  but 
they  all  have  the  brains  of  school  boys. 
No  wonder  the  world  moves  so  slowly,  and 
great  men  seem  so  great." 

And  he  wound  the  handkerchief  around 
his  hand  again. 

"The  captain  has  arranged  to  sell  the 
paper?"  asked  Mademoiselle. 

"Exactly,"  said  my  father.  "The  price 
has  been  fixed,  and  I  shall  deliver  it  myself 
as  soon  as  the  day  grows  a  little  darker. 
I  am  sorry,  almost.  It  has  not  been  unin 
teresting." 

"No,"  said  Mademoiselle,  "it  has  not 
been  uninteresting." 

'You  are  pale,  my  son,"  said  my  father, 
turning  to  me.  "I  trust  you  are  not  hurt?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"It  is  only  your  pride?  You  will  be 
better  soon.  Come,  we  have  always  been 
good  losers.  We  have  always  known  when 
the  game  was  up.  Let  us  see  if  we  cannot 
end  it  gracefully,  as  gentlemen  should. 
You  cannot  get  the  paper.  Why  not  make 
the  best  of  it?  You  have  tried,  and  tried  not 
unskilfully,  but  you  see  now  that  the  right 
man  cannot  always  win — a  useful  lesson,  is 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE   GENTLEMAN 

it  not?  I  do  not  ask  you  to  like  me  for  it. 
You  have  seen  enough  of  me,  I  hope,  to 
hate  me.  And  yet — let  us  be  philosophical. 
Be  seated,  my  son.  Brutus,  it  is  three 
o'clock.  Bring  in  the  Madeira,  and  the 
noon  meal/' 

I  did  not  reply,  and  he  stood  for  a  moment 
watching  me  narrowly.  Brutus  threw  an 
other  log  on  the  fire,  which  gave  off  a  brisk 
crackling  from  the  bed  of  coals.  He  then 
stood  waiting  doubtfully,  until  my  father 
nodded. 

"Take  the  door  out  as  you  go,"  my  father 
directed.'  "Mademoiselle,  permit  me." 

He  pointed  out  an  armchair  beside  the 
fire.  "And  you,  my  son,  opposite.  So." 
From  the  side  pocket  of  his  coat  he  drew 
a  silver  mounted  pistol,  which  he  examined 
with  studious  attention. 

"Come,"  he  said,  slipping  it  back,  "let  us 
be  tranquil.  Is  there  any  reason  to  bear  ill 
will  simply  because  we  each  stand  on  an 
opposite  side  of  a  question  of  ethics  ?  If  you 
had  only  been  to  the  wars,  how  differently 
you  would  see  it.  There  hundreds  of  men 
stab  each  other  with  the  best  will  in  the 
world,  none  of  the  crudeness  of  personal 
animosity,  only  the  best  of  good  nature. 
In  a  little  time  now  we  shall  part,  never,  if 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

I  can  help  it,  to  meet  again.  You  have  seen 
me  as  a  dangerous,  reckless  man,  without 
any  principles  worth  mentioning.  Indeed, 
I  have  so  few  that  I  shall  have  recourse  to 
violence,  my  son,  if  you  do  not  assume  a 
more  reposeful  manner.  The  evening  will 
be  active  enough  to  make  any  further  ex 
citement  quite  superfluous.  Have  patience. 
An  hour  or  so  means  little  to  anyone  so 
young." 

There  fell  a  silence  while  he  stood  im 
movably  watching  us.  A  gust  of  wind  blew 
down  the  chimney,  and  scattered  a  cloud  of 
dust  over  the  hearth.  The  rafters  creaked. 
Somewhere  in  the  stillness  a  door  slammed. 
The  very  lack  of  expression  in  his  face  was 
stamping  it  on  my  memory,  and  for  the  first 
time  its  phlegmatic  calm  aroused  in  me  a 
new  emotion.  I  had  hated  it  and  wondered 
at  it  before,  and  now  in  spite  of  myself  it 
was  giving  me  a  twinge  of  pity.  For  nature 
had  intended  it  to  be  an  expressive  face, 
sensitive  and  quick  to  mirror  each  percep 
tion  and  emotion.  Was  it  pride  that  had 
turned  it  into  a  mask,  and  drawn  a  curtain 
before  the  light  that  burned  within,  or  had 
the  light  burned  out  and  left  it  merely  cold 
and  unresponsive? 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"The  captain  is  thinking?"  said  Made 
moiselle. 

He  smiled,  and  fixed  her  with  his  level 
glance. 

"Indeed  yes/'  he  answered  briskly.  "It 
is  a  rudeness  for  which  I  can  only  crave 
your  pardon.  Strange  that  I  should  have 
tasted  your  father's  hospitality  so  often  and 
should  still  be  a  taciturn  host." 

Mademoiselle  bit  her  lip. 

"There  is  only  one  thing  stranger,"  she 
said  coldly. 

"And  that  is — ?"  said  my  father,  bend 
ing  toward  her  attentively. 

"That  you  should  betray  the  last  request 
of  the  man  who  once  sheltered  you  and 
trusted  you,  and  showed  you  every  kindness. 
Tell  me,  captain,  is  it  another  display  of 
artistic  temperament,  or  simply  a  lack  of 
breeding?" 

Her  words  seemed  to  fall  lightly  on  my 
father.  He  took  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  waved 
his  hand  in  an  airy  gesture  of  denial. 

"Bah,"  he  said.  "If  the  Marquis  were 
alive,  he  would  understand.  He  was  always 
an  opportunist,  the  Marquis.  'Drink  your 
wine,'  he  would  say,  'drink  your  wine  and 
break  your  glass.  We  may  not  have  heads 
to  drink  it  with  tomorrow.'  I  am  merely 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

drinking  the  wine,  Mademoiselle.  He  would 
not  blame  me.  Besides,  the  Marquis  owes 
me  nothing.  If  it  were  not  for  me,  your 
brother  would  be  drinking  his  wine  in  para 
dise,  instead  of  cursing  at  the  American 
climate.  And  you,  Mademoiselles-would 
you  have  preferred  to  remain  with  the 
police?" 

He  looked  thoughtfully  into  his  snuff  box. 

"Dead  men  press  no  bills — surely  you 
recall  the  Marquis  said  that  also.  No, 
Mademoiselle,  we  must  be  practical  to  live. 
The  Marquis  would  understand.  The  Mar 
quis  was  always  practical." 

She  caught  her  breath  sharply,  but  my 
father  seemed  not  to  have  perceived  the 
effect  of  his  words. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "here  is  Brutus  with  the 
meal." 

Brutus  had  carried  in  a  small  round 
table  on  which  were  arranged  a  loaf  of 
bread  and  some  salt  meat. 

"Mademoiselle  will  join  me?"  asked  my 
father,  rubbing  his  hands.  I  do  not  think 
he  expected  her  reply  any  more  than  I  did. 
Indeed,  it  seemed  to  give  him  a  momentary 
uneasiness. 

"One  must  eat,"  said  Mademoiselle.  "We1 
will  eat,  captain,  and  then  we  will  talk.  I 

[154] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

am  sorry  you  have  made  it  necessary,  but 
of  course  you  have  expected  it." 

"  Mademoiselle  has  been  unnaturally  sub 
dued,"  he  replied.  "It  is  pleasant  she  is 
coming  to  herself  again.  And  you,  my  son, 
you  should  be  hungry." 

"As  Mademoiselle  says,  one  must  eat," 
I  answered. 

"Good,"  he  said.  "The  food  is  poor,  but 
you  will  find  the  wine  excellent,"  and  he 
filled  the  glasses.  It  was  a  strange  meal. 

"Now  we  shall  talk,"  said  Mademoiselle, 
when  it  was  finished. 

My  father  raised  his  wine  glass  to  the 
light. 

"  It  is  always  .  a  pleasure  '  to  listen  to 
Mademoiselle." 

"I  fear,"  replied  Mademoiselle,  "that  this 
will  be  the  exception." 

"Impossible,"  said  my  father,  sipping  his 


wne. 
" 


Airihis"  morning  I  have  tried  to  have  a 
word  with  you,"  said  Mademoiselle,  "but 
your  time  has  been  well  taken  up.  I  hoped 
to  speak  to  you  instead  of  your  son,  but  he 
failed  to  take  my  advice  and  remain  quiet. 
As  I  said  before,  you  are  both  stubborn.  Not 
that  it  has  made  much  difference.  You  still 
have,  the  paper." 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

She  paused,  and  surveyed  him  calmly. 

"Is  it  not  painful  to  continue  the  dis 
cussion  ?"  my  father  inquired.  "  I  assure  you 
I  have  not  changed  my  mind  since  last 
evening,  nor  shall  I  change  it.  Must  I 
repeat  that  the  affair  of  the  paper  is  fin 
ished?" 

"We  shall  see,"  said  Mademoiselle. 

"As  Mademoiselle  wishes,"  said  my 
father. 

"It  has  been  six  years  since  I  first  saw  you 
in  Paris,"  said  Mademoiselle.  Her  voice 
was  softly  musical,  and  somehow  she  was 
no  longer  cold  and  forbidding.  My  father 
placed  his  wine  glass  on  the  table,  and 
seemingly  a  little  disturbed,  gave  her  his 
full  attention. 

"Six  years,"  said  Mademoiselle.  "I  have 
often  thought  of  you  since  then. 

"You  have  done  me  too  much  honor," 
said  my  father.  "You  always  have,  my 
lady." 

She  only  smiled  and  shook  her  head. 

"You  are  the  sort  of  man  whom  women 
think  about,  and  the  sort  whom  women 
admire.  Surely  you  know  that  without  my 
telling  you.  A  man  with  a  past  is  always 
more  pleasant  than  one  with  a  future. 
Do  you  know  what  I  thought  when  I  saw 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

you  that  evening?  You  remember,  they 
were  in  the  room,  whispering  as  usual,  plot 
ting  and  planning,  and  you  were  to  have  a 
boat  off  the  coast  of  Normandy.  You  and 
the  Marquis  had  ridden  from  Bordeaux.  I 
thought,  Captain,  that  you  were  the  sort 
of  man  who  could  succeed  in  anything  you 
tried — yes,  anything.  Perhaps  you  know 
the  Marquis  thought  so  too,  and  even  today 
I  believe  we  were  nearly  right.  We  saw  you 
in  Brussels  later,  and  in  Holland,  and  then 
at  Blanzy  this  year.  I  have  known  of  a 
dozen  commissions  you  have  performed 
without  a  single  blunder.  Indeed,  I  know 
of  only  one  thing  in  which  you  have  defi 
nitely  failed." 

"Only  one?  Impossible,"  said  my  father. 

"Yes,  only  one,  and  it  seemed  simple 
enough." 

A  touch  of  color  had  mounted  to  her 
cheeks,  and  she  looked  down  at  the  bare 
table. 

"You  have  done  your  best,  done  your 
best  in  a  hundred  little  ways  to  make  me 
hate  you.  You  have  studied  the  matter 
carefully,  as  you  study  everything.  You 
have  missed  few  opportunities.  Even  a 
minute  ago,  about  the  Marquis — and  yet 
you  have  not  succeeded." 

[1571 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

My  father  raised  his  hand  hastily  to  his 
coat  lapel. 

"Is  there  never  a  woman  who  will  not 
reduce  matters  to  personalities/'  he  mur 
mured.  "I  should  have  known  better.  I 
see  it  now.  I  should  have  made  love  to  you/' 

Though  her  voice  was  grave,  there  was 
laughter  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  have  often  wondered  why  you  did  not. 
It  was  the  only  method  you  seem  to  have 
overlooked. 

"There  is  one  mistake  a  man  always 
makes  about  women."  He  smiled  and 
glanced  at  us  both,  and  then  back  at  his 
wine  again.  "He  forgets  they  are  all  alike. 
Sooner  or  later  he  sees  one  that  in  some 
strange  way  seems  different.  I  thought  you 
were  different,  Mademoiselle.  Heaven  for 
give  me,  I  thought  you  even  rational.  Surely 
you  have  every  reason  to  dislike  me.  Let 
us  be  serious,  Mademoiselle.  You  do  not 
hate  me?" 

"I  am  afraid,"  said  Mademoiselle,  "that 
you  have  had  quite  an  opposite  effect." 

In  spite  of  myself  I  started.  Could  it  be 
that  I  was  jealous?  Her  eyes  were  lowered 
to  the  arm  of  her  chair,  and  she  was  intent 
on  the  delicate  carving  of  the  mahogany.  It 

[158] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

was  true  then.  I  might  have  suspected  it 
before,  but  was  it  possible  that  I  cared? 

"Good  God!"  exclaimed  my  father,  and 
pushed  back  his  chair. 

Mademoiselle  rested  her  chin  on  the  palm 
of  her  hand. 

"I  told  you  the  interview  would  not  be 
pleasant,"  she  said.  "But  you  are  pessi 
mistic,  captain.  I  have  not  said  I  loved 
you.  Do  not  be  alarmed.  I  was  going  to 
say  I  pitied  you.  That  was  all/' 

"Mon  Dieu,"  my  father  murmured.  "It 
is  worse."  And  yet  I  thought  I  detected  a 
note  of  relief  in  his  voice.  "Surely  I  am  not 
as  old  as  that." 

Mademoiselle,  whose  eyes  had  never  left 
his  face,  smiled  and  shook  her  head. 

"I  know  what  you  are  thinking,"  she 
said.  "No,  no,  captain.  It  is  not  the  begin 
ning  of  a  melodramatic  speech.  I  am  not 
offering  pity  to  the  villain  in  the  story. 
Even  the  first  night  I  met  you,  I  was  sorry 
for  you,  captain.  I  was  sorry  as  soon  as  I 
saw  your  eyes.  I  knew  then  that  something 
had  happened,  and  when  I  heard  you  speak, 
I  told  myself  you  were  not  to  blame  for  it. 
I  still  believe  you  were  not  to  blame.  You 
see,  I  know  your  story  now." 

"  Indeed  ?"  said  my  father.  "  And  you  still 

[159] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 
are  sorry.     Mademoiselle,  you  disappoint 


me/3 


"Yes,"  said  Mademoiselle,  "I  heard  the 
story,  and  I  believe  she  was  to  blame,  not 
you.  After  all,  she  took  you  for  better  or 


worse." 


And  then  a  strange  thing  happened.  In 
spite  of  himself  he  started.  His  face  flushed, 
and  his  lips  pressed  tight  together.  It 
seemed  almost  as  though  a  spasm  of  pain 
had  seized  him,  which  he  could  not  conceal 
in  spite  of  his  best  efforts.  With  an  uncon 
scious  motion,  he  grasped  his  wine  glass 
and  the  color  ebbed  from  his  cheeks. 

"Mademoiselle  is  mistaken,"  said  my 
father.  "Another  wine  glass,  Brutus." 
The  stem  of  the  one  he  was  holding  had 
snapped  in  his  hand. 

"Nonsense,"  said  Mademoiselle  shortly. 

My  father  cleared  his  throat,  and  glanced 
restlessly  away,  his  face  still  set  and  still 
lined  with  the  trace  of  suffering. 

"Mademoiselle,"  he  said  finally,  "you 
deal  with  a  subject  which  is  still  painful. 
Pray  excuse  me  if  I  do  not  discuss  it.  Any 
thing  which  you  may  have  heard  of  my  af 
fairs  is  entirely  a  fault  of  mine.  You  under 
stand?" 

"Yes,"    said    Mademoiselle,    "I    under- 

[160] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

stand,  and  we  shall  continue  to  discuss  it, 
no  matter  how  painful  it  is  to  you.  Who 
knows,  captain;  perhaps  I  can  bring  you  to 
your  senses,  or  are  you  going  to  continue  to 
ruin  your  life  on  account  of  a  woman?" 

"  Be  silent,  Mademoiselle,"  said  my  father 
sharply. 

But  she  disregarded  his  interruption. 

"  So  she  believed  that  you  had  filled  your 
ship  with  fifty  bales  of  shavings.  She  be 
lieved  it,  and  called  you  a  thief.  She  be 
lieved  you  were  as  gauche  as  that.  I  can 
guess  the  rest  of  the  story." 

But  my  father  had  regained  his  equanim 
ity. 

"Five  hundred  bales  of  shavings,"  he  cor 
rected.  "You  are  misinformed  even  about 
the  merest  details." 

"And  for  fifteen  years,  you  have  been 
roving  about  the  world,  trying  to  convince 
her  she  was  right.  Ah,  you  are  touched?  I 
have  guessed  your  secret.  Can  anything  be 
more  ridiculous!" 

^  He  half  started  from  his  chair,  and  again 
his  face  grew  drawn  and  haggard. 

"She  was  right,"  he  said,  a  little  hoarsely. 
"Believe  me,  she  was  always  right,  Made 
moiselle." 

[161] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"Nonsense,"  said  Mademoiselle.  "I  do 
not  believe  it." 

My  father  turned  to  me  with  a  shrug  of 
his  shoulders. 

"It  is  pleasant  to  remember,  is  it  not,  my 
son,  that  your  mother  had  a  keener  discern 
ment,  and  did  not  give  way  to  the  dictates 
of  a  romantic  imagination?" 

"Sir,"  I  said,  "there  is  only  one  reason 
why  I  ever  came  here,  and  that  was  because 
my  mother  requested  it.  She  wanted  you 
to  know,  sir,  that  she  regretted  what  she 
said  almost  the  moment  you  left  the  house. 
If  you  had  ever  written  her,  if  you  had  ever 
sent  a  single  word,  you  could  have  changed 
it  all.  In  spite  of  all  the  evidence,  she  never 
came  fully  to  believe  it." 

"Ah,  but  you  believe  it,"  said  my  father 
quickly. 

I  do  not  think  he  ever  heard  my  answer. 
He  had  turned  unsteadily  in  his  chair,  and 
was  facing  the  dying  embers  of  the  fire,  his 
left  hand  limp  on  the  table  before  him. 
Again  the  spasm  of  pain  crossed  his  face. 
Mademoiselle  still  watched  him,  but  with 
out  a  trace  of  triumph.  Indeed,  she  seemed 
more  kindly  and  more  gentle  than  I  had 
ever  known  her. 

"Five  hundred  bales  of  shavings,"  she 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

said  softly.  "Ah,  captain,  there  are  not 
many  men  who  would  do  it.  Not  any  that 
I  know,  save  you  and  the  Marquis/' 

"Brutus,"  said  my  father,  "a  glass  of 


rum." 


With  his  eyes  still  on  the  fire,  he  drank 
the  spirits,  and  sighed.  "And  now,  Brutus," 
he  continued,  "my  volume  of  Rabelais." 

But  when  it  was  placed  beside  him,  he 
left  it  unopened,  and  still  continued  to  study 
the  shifting  scenes  in  the  coals. 


XII 

Was  it  possible  that  I  cared?  There  she 
was  leaning  toward  him,  the  flames  from  the 
fire  dancing  softly  before  her  face,  giving 
her  dark  hair  a  hundred  new  lights  and 
shadows.  Her  lips  were  parted,  and  in  her 
eyes  was  silent  entreaty.  I  felt  a  sudden 
unaccountable  impulse  to  snatch  up  the 
volume  of  Rabelais,  to  face  my  father  again, 
weapon  or  no  weapon,  to  show  her 

"Come,  captain/'  said  Mademoiselle 
gently.  "Must  you  continue  this  after  it 
has  turned  into  a  farce?  Must  you  continue 
acting  from  pique,  when  the  thing  has  been 
over  for  more  years  than  you  care  to  remem 
ber?  Must  you  keep  on  now  because  of  a 
whim  to  make  your  life  miserable  and  the 
lives  of  others  ?  Will  you  threaten  fifty  men 
with  death  and  ruin,  because  you  once  were 
called  a  thief?  It  is  folly,  sir,  and  you  know 
it,  utter  useless  folly!  Pray  do  not  stare  at 
me.  It  was  easy  enough  to  piece  your  story 
together.  I  guessed  it  long  ago.  I  have  lis 
tened  too  often  to  you  and  the  Marquis  at 
wine.  Come,  captain,  give  me  back  the 
paper." 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

With  his  old  half  smile,  my  father  turned 
to  her  and  nodded  in  pleasant  acknowledg 
ment. 

"Mademoiselle/'  he  observed  evenly,  "I 
have  gone  further  through  the  world  than 
most  men,  though  to  less  purpose,  and  I 
have  met  many  people,  but  none  of  them 
with  an  intuition  like  yours." 

He  paused  long  enough  to  refill  his  glass. 

"You  are  right,  Mademoiselle.  Indeed, 
it  is  quite  wonderful  to  meet  a  woman  of 
your  discernment.  Yes,  you  are  right.  My 
wife  called  me  a  rogue  and  a  scoundrel — 
mind  you,  I  am  not  saying  she  was  mis 
taken — but  my  temper  was  hotter  then  than* 
it  is  now.  I  have  done  my  best  to  convince 
her  she  was  not  in  error.  And  now,  Made 
moiselle,  it  has  become  as  much  of  a  habit 
with  me  as  strong  drink,  a  habit  which  even? 
you  cannot  break.  I  have  been  a  villain  too 
long  to  leave  off  lightly.  No,  Mademoiselle, 
I  have  the  paper,  and  I  intend  to  dispose 
of  it  as  I  see  fit.  Your  mother,  my  son,  need 
have  had  no  cause  for  regret.  She  was  right 
in  everything  she  said.  Brutus,  tell  Mr. 
Aiken  I  am  ready  to  see  him." 

He  must  have  been  in  the  hall  outside, 
for  he  entered  the  morning  room  almost  as 
soon  as  my  father  had  spoken,  dressed  in 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

his  rusty  black  sea  cloak.  At  the  sight  of 
Mademoiselle,  he  bowed  ceremoniously,  and 
blew  loudly  on  his  fingers. 

"Wind's  shifted  southwest/'  he  said. 
"But  we're  ready  to  put  out." 

"Sit  down,  Mr.  Aiken,"  said  my  father. 
""  My  son,  pour  him  a  little  refreshment." 

"Ah,"  said  Mr.  Aiken,  selecting  a  chair 
by  the  fire,  "pour  it  out,  my  lad — fill  her 
up.  It's  a  short  life  and  little  joy  'less  we 
draw  it  from  the  bottle.  And  long  life  and 
much  joy  to  you,  sir,  by  the  same  token," 
he  added,  raising  his  glass  and  tossing  the 
spirits  adroitly  down  his  throat.  Then, 
with  a  comfortable  sigh,  he  drew  out  his 
pipe  and  lighted  it  on  an  ember. 

uYes,  she'll  be  blowing  before  morning." 

"You  don't  mean,"  inquired  my  father, 
with  a  glance  out  of  the  window,  "that  I 
can't  launch  a  small  boat  from  the  beach?" 

"You  could,  captain,  if  you'd  a  mind  to," 
said  Ned  Aiken,  tamping  down  his  tobacco, 
41  but  there's  lots  who  couldn't." 

"Then  I  shall,"  said  my  father  languidly. 
"  Brutus  and  I  will  board  the  Sea  Tern  at 
eight  o'clock  tonight.  You  will  stand  off 
outside  and  put  on  your  running  lights." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Aiken,  "it's  time  we  was 
going." 

[166] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"You  mean  they  are  taking  steps?" 

"A  frigate's  due  in  at  midnight/'  said 
Mr.  Aiken,  grinning. 

"A  frigate!  Think  of  that!"  said  my 
father.  "At  last  we  seem  to  be  making  our 
mark  on  the  world." 

"  We've  never  done  the  beat  of  this,"  said 
Mr.  Aiken. 

"And  everything  is  quiet  outside?" 

"All  right  so  far,"  said  Mr.  Aiken. 

"How  many  men  are  watching  the  house  ?" 

"There's  four,  sir,"  he  answered. 

"Ah,"  said  my  father,  "  and  Mr.  Lawton 
still  stops  at  the  tavern?" 

"Hasn't  showed  his  head  all  morning," 
answered  Mr.  Aiken. 

"Ah,"  said  my  father,  "perhaps  he  is 
right  in  concealing  such  a  useless  member." 
And  he  helped  himself  from  the  decanter, 
seemed  to  hesitate  for  a  moment,  and  con 
tinued: 

"And  Mr.  Jason  Hill — he  has  been  to 
call,  Ned.  Have  you  seen  him  since?" 

"He's  been  walking  out  in  the  road,  sir, 
all  morning,"  replied  Mr.  Aiken.  "And  a 
schooner  of  his  is  anchored  upstream.  And 
if  you'll  pardon  the  liberty,  I  don't  give  that 
for  Jason  Hill,"  and  he  spat  into  the  fire. 

"It  may  please  you  to  know,"  said  my 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

father,  "  that  I  quite  agree  with  you.  I  am 
afraid,"  he  went  on,  looking  at  the  back  of 
his  hand,  "that  Jason  does  not  take  me  se~ 
riously.  I  fear  he  will  find  he  is  wrong. 
Brutus!" 

Brutus,  apparently  anticipating  some 
thing  pleasant,  moved  towards  my  father's 
chair. 

"My  pistols,  Brutus.  And  it  is  growing 
dark.  You  had  best  draw  the  shutters  and 
bring  in  the  candles.  We're  sailing  very 
close  to  the  wind  this  evening.  Listen  to  me 
carefully,  Brutus.  You  will  have  the  cutter 
by  the  bar  at  eight  o'clock,  and  in  five  min 
utes  you  will  bring  out  my  horse." 

"What's  the  horse  for?"  asked  Mr.  Aiken. 

My  father  settled  himself  back  more 
comfortably  in  his  chair  before  he  answered. 
A  few  drops  of  wine  had  spilled  on  the 
mahogany.  He  touched  them,  and  held  up 
his  fingers  and  looked  thoughtfully  at  the 
stain. 

"Because  I  propose  to  ride  through 
them,"  he  said.  "I  propose  showing  our 
friends — how  shall  I  put  it  so  you'll  under 
stand? — that  I  don't  care  a  damn  for  the 
whole  pack." 

"Gad!"  murmured  Mr.  Aiken.  "I  might 
have  known  it.  And  here  I  was  thinking 

[168] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

you'd  be  quiet  and  sensible.  Are  you  still 
going  on  with  that  damned  paper?" 

The  red  of  the  wine  seemed  to  please  my 
father.  He  dipped  his  ringers  in  it  again 
and  drew  them  slowly  across  the  back  of  his 
left  hand. 

"Precisely,"  he  said.  "I  propose  to  de 
liver  it  tonight  before  I  sail.  I  leave  it  at 
Hixon's  farm." 

"He's  dead,"  said  Mr.  Aiken. 

"Exactly,"  said  my  father.  "Only  his 
shade  will  help  me.  Perhaps  it  will  be 
enough — who  knows?" 

"There'll  be  half  a  dozen  after  you  before 
you  get  through  the  gate,  "said  Mr.  Aiken 
dubiously.  "You  can  lay  to  it  Lawton  will 
be  there  before  you  make  a  turn." 

"That,"  said  my  father,  "is  why  I  say 
we're  sailing  very  close  to  the  wind." 

"Good  God,  sir,  burn  it  up,"  said  Mr. 
Aiken  plaintively.  "What's  it  been  doing 
but  causing  trouble  ever  since  we've  got  it? 
Running  gear  carried  away — man  wounded 
from  splinters.  Hell  to  pay  everywhere. 
Gad,  sir,  they're  afraid  to  sleep  tonight  for 
fear  you'll  blow  'em  out  of  bed.  What's 
the  use  of  it  all  ?  Damn  it,  that's  what  I  say, 
what's  the  use?  And  now  here  you  go, 
risking  getting  a  piece  of  lead  thrown  in  you. 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

all  because  of  a  few  names  scrawled  on  a 
piece  of  paper.  Here  it's  the  first  time  you've 
been  back.  It's  a  hell  of  a  home-coming — 
that's  what  I  say.  I  told  you  you  hadn't 
ought  to  have  come.  Now  there's  the  fire. 
Why  not  forget  it  and  burn  it  up,  and  then 
it's  over  just  as  neat  as  neat,  and  then  we're 
aboard,  and  after  the  pearls  again.  Why, 
what  must  the  boy  be  thinking  of  all  this? 
He  must  be  thinking  he's  got  a  hell-cat 
for  a  father.  That's  what  he  [must  be 
thinking." 

"That  will  do,"  said  my  father  coldly, 
and  he  rose  slowly  from  his  chair,  and  stood 
squarely  in  front  of  me. 

"Tie  that  boy  up,  Brutus,"  he  com 
manded.  "It  is  a  compliment,  my  son. 
My  opinion  of  you  is  steadily  rising.  Tie 
him  up,  Brutus.  You  will  find  a  rope  on  the 
chimney  piece." 

He  stood  close  to  me,  evidently  pleased 
at  the  convulsive  anger  which  had  gripped 
me.  Brutus  was  still  fumbling  on  the 
mantlepiece.  Ned  Aiken's  pipe  had  dropped 
from  his  mouth.  It  was  Mademoiselle  who 
was  the  first  to  intervene. 

"Are  you  out  of  your  senses?"  she  de 
manded,  seizing  him  by  the  arm.  "It  is  too 
much,  captain,  I  tell  you  it  is  too  much. 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

Think  what  you  are  doing,  and  send  the 
black  man  off." 

"I  have  been  thinking  the  matter  over 
for  some  time/'  replied  my  father  tran 
quilly,  "and  I  have  determined  to  do  the 
thing  thoroughly.  If  he  cannot  like  me, 
it  is  better  for  him  to  hate  me,  and  may 
save  trouble.  Tie  him  up,  Brutus." 

"Bear  away!"  cried  Mr.  Aiken  harshly. 
"Mind  yourself,  sir." 

His  warning,  however,  was  late  in  coming. 
I  had  sprung  at  my  father  before  the  sen 
tence  was  finished.  It  was  almost  the  only 
time  I  knew  him  to  miscalculate.  He  must 
have  been  taken  unaware,  for  he  stepped 
backward  too  quickly,  and  collided  with 
the  very  chair  he  had  quitted.  It  shook  his 
balance  for  the  moment,  so  that  he  thrust  a 
hand  behind  him  to  recover  himself,  and  in 
the  same  instant  I  had  the  volume  of 
Rabelais.  I  leapt  for  the  open  doorway,  but 
Ned  Aiken  was  there  to  intercept  me.  Brutus 
was  up  behind  me  with  his  great  hands 
clamping  down  on  my  shoulders.  I  turned 
and  hurled  the  volume  in  the  fireplace. 

My  father  caught  it  out  almost  before  it 
landed.  With  all  the  deliberation  of  a  con 
noisseur  examining  an  old  and  rare  edition, 
he  turned  the  pages  with  his  slim  fingers. 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

There,  as  he  had  said,  was  the  paper,  with 
the  same  red  seals  that  I  had  admired  the 
previous  evening.  He  placed  it  slowly  in 
his  inside  pocket,  and  tossed  the  book  on 
the  floor. 

"Now  here's  a  pretty  kettle  of  fish,"  said 
Mr.  Aiken. 

My  father  was  watching  me  thoughtfully. 

"Take  your  hands  off  him,  Brutus,"  he 
said,  "and  bring  out  the  horse." 

For  a  second  longer  we  stood  motionless, 
each  watching  the  other.  Then  my  father 
crossed  to  the  long  table  near  which  I  was 
standing,  picked  up  the  pistols  that  Brutus 
had  left  there,  and  slipped  them  into  his 
capacious  side  pockets. 

"You  disappoint  me,  Henry,"  he  re 
marked.  "You  should  have  used  those 
pistols." 

"I  had  thought  of  them,"  I  answered. 

"I  am  glad  of  that,"  he  said.  "It  is  a 
relief  to  know  you  did  not  overlook  them. 
You  were  right,  Mademoiselle.  I  should 
have  known  better  than  to  treat  him  so. 
We  have  ceased  to  play  the  game,  my  son. 
It  only  remains  to  take  my  leave.  I  shall 
not  trouble  you  again." 

He  was  standing  close  beside  me.   Was  it 

[172] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

possible  his  eyes  were  a  little  wistful,  and 
his  voice  a  trifle  sad? 

"  I  thought  I  should  be  glad  to  leave  you/' 
he  said,  "and  somehow  I  am  sorry.  Odd 
that  we  can  never  properly  gauge  our  emo 
tions.  I  feel  that  you  will  be  a  very  blithe 
and  active  gentleman  in  time,  and  there  are 
not  so  many  left  in  these  drab  days.  Ah, 
well: " 

His  sword  was  lying  on  the  table.  He 
drew  it,  and  tucked  the  naked  blade  under 
his  arm.  In  spite  of  the  two  candles  which 
Brutus  had  left,  the  shadows  had  closed 
about  us,  so  that  his  figure  alone  remained 
distinct  in  the  yellow  light,  slender  and 
carelessly  elegant.  I  think  it  pleased  him  to 
have  us  all  three  watching.  Any  gathering, 
however  small,  that  he  might  dominate, 
appeared  to  give  him  enjoyment — his  leave 
taking  not  less  than  the  others. 

"It  is  growing  dark,  Mr.  Aiken,"  he 
observed,  "and  our  position  is  not  without 
its  drawbacks.  Call  in  the  men  from  out 
side,  and  take  them  aboard  and  give  them 
a  measure  of  rum.  No  one  will  disturb  me 
before  I  leave,  I  think.  You  had  better 
weigh  at  once,  and  never  mind  your  running 
lights  till  it  is  time  for  them." 

"  So  you're  going  to  do  it,"  said  Mr.  Aiken. 

[173] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 
I  might  have  known  you  wouldn't  listen  to 


reason." 


"You  should  have  sailed  with  me  long 
enough,"  said  my  father,  "to  know  I  never 
do." 

"And  you  not  even  dressed  for  it,"  added 
Mr.  Aiken.  "  You  might  be  going  to  a  party, 
so  you  might." 

"I  think,"  replied  my  father,  "the  even 
ing  will  be  more  interesting  than  a  purely 
social  affair.  Keep  the  Sea  Tern  well  off, 
and  we  shall  meet  only  too  soon  again/ 

"Why  don't  I  take  the  boy  along,"  Mr. 
Aiken  suggested,  eyeing  me  a  little  fur 
tively.  "He'd  be  right  useful  where  we're 
going,  and  the  sea  would  do  him  good,  so  it 
would." 

"I  fancy  you'll  have  enough  bother  with 
out  him,"  replied  my  father.  "Personally 
I  have  found  him  quite  distracting  during 
my  short  visit." 

"Hell,"  said  Mr.  Aiken,  *;he  wouldn't  be 
no  trouble,  but  he  looks  fair  ugly  here,  so 
he  does,  and  he  knows  too  much.  No  offense, 
sir,  but  he's  too  up  and  coming  to  be  left 
alone  with  an  ignorant  nigger." 

My  father  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Brutus  is  fond  of  the  boy.  He  will  not 
hurt  him." 

[174] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"But  the  boy  might  hurt  the  nigger," 
said  Mr.  Aiken. 

My  father  nodded  blandly  toward  the 
hall. 

"And  you  might  be  seasick,"  he  said. 

"Har,"  roared  Mr.  Aiken,  seemingly 
struck  by  the  subtle  humor  of  the  remark. 
"Damned  if  you  wouldn't  joke  if  the  deck 
was  blowing  off  under  you.  Damned  if  I 
ever  seen  the  likes  of  you  now,  captain." 

Still  under  the  spell  of  mirth  he  left  us. 
The  house  door  closed  behind  him,  and 
Brutus  glided  into  the  room. 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  my  father  bowing, 
"  I  am  sorry  the  cards  have  fallen  so  we  must 
part.  If  you  had  as  few  pleasant  things  as 
I  to  remember,  you  also  might  understand 
how  poignantly  I  regret  it,  even  though  I 
know  it  is  for  the  best.  It  is  time  you  were 
leaving  such  low  company." 

"I  have  found  it  pleasant  sometimes," 
she  replied  a  little  wistfully.  "It  takes  very 
little  to  please  me,  captain." 

"Sometimes,"  he  replied,  smiling,  "any 
thing  is  pleasant,  but  only  sometimes. 
Your  brother  has  been  notified,  Mademoi 
selle.  You  should  hear  from  him  in  a  little 
while  now,  when  this  hurry  and  bustle  is 
over,  and  when  you  see  hirrr^  give  him  my 

[175] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

regards  and  my  regrets.  And  Mademoiselle  " 
— he  hesitated  an  instant — "would  you 
think  it  insolent  if  I  said  I  sometimes  wished 
— Mon  Dieu,  Mademoiselle,  do  not  take  it 
so.  It  was  entirely  unpardonable  of  me." 

Mademoiselle  had  hidden  her  face  in  her 
hands.  My  father,  frowning  slightly,  rubbed 
his  thumb  along  his  sword  blade. 

"Forgive  me,  if  you  can,"  he  said.  "I 
have  often  feared  my  manners  would  fail 
me  sometime." 

She  looked  up  at  him  then,  and  her  eyes 
were  very  bright. 

"Suppose,"  she  said  softly,  "I  told  you 
there  was  nothing  to  forgive.  Suppose  I 
said " 

My  father,  bowing  his  lowest,  politely 
and  rather  hastily  interrupted. 

"Mademoiselle  would  be  too  kind.  She 
would  have  forgotten  that  it  is  quite  im 
possible." 

"No,"  said  Mademoiselle,  shaking  her 
head  slowly,  "it  is  not  impossible.  You 
should  have  known  better  than  to  say  that. 
Suppose — "  her  voice  choked  a  little,  as 
though  the  words  hurt  her — "suppose  I 
bade  you  recall,  captain,  what  you  said  on 
the  stairs  at  Blanzy,  when  they  were  at  the 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

door  and  you  were  going  to  meet  them. 
Do  you  remember?" 

My  father  smiled,  and  made  a  polite 
little  gesture  of  assumed  despair.  Then  his 
voice,  very  slow  and  cool,  broke  in  on  her 
speech  and  stilled  it. 

"Good  God,  Mademoiselle,  one  cannot 
remember  everything." 

Playing  with  the  hilt  of  his  sword,  he 
stepped  nearer,  still  smiling,  still  watching 
her  with  a  polished  curiosity. 

"I  have  said  so  many  little  things  to 
women  in  my  time,  so  many  little  nothings. 
It  is  hard  to  remember  them  all.  They 
have  become  confused  now,  and  blended 
into  an  interesting  background,  whose  ele 
ments  I  can  no  longer  separate.  Your 
pardon,  my  lady,  but  I  have  forgotten, 
forgotten  so  completely  that  even  the  stairs 
seem  merely  a  gentle  blur." 

And  he  pressed  his  hand  over  his  brow 
and  sighed,  while  he  watched  her  face  flush 
crimson. 

"You  lie!"  she  cried.  "You  have  not 
forgotten!" 

My  father  ceased  to  smile. 

"And  suppose  I  have  not,"  he  said. 
"What  is  it  to  Mademoiselle?  What  are 
the  words  of  a  ruined  man,  the  idle  speech 

[177] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

of  a  fool  who  fancied  he  would  sup  that 
night  in  paradise,  and  what  use  is  it  to 
recall  them  now?  Is  it  possible  you  believe 
I  am  touched  by  such  trivial  matters? 
Because  everyone  had  done  what  you  wish, 
do  you  think  I  shall  also  ?  Do  you  think  you 
can  make  me  give  up  the  paper,  as  though 
I  were  a  simpering,  romantic  fool  in  Paris? 
Do  you  think  I  have  gone  this  far  to  turn 
back?  Mademoiselle  seems  to  forget  that 
I  have  the  game  in  my  own  hands.  It 
would  be  a  foolish  thing  to  throw  it  all 
away,  even " 

He  paused,  and  bowed  again. 

"Even  for  you,  Mademoiselle.  I  have 
arrived  where  I  am  today  only  for  one 
reason.  Can  you  not  guess  it?  It  was  a 
pleasure  to  take  you  from  Blanzy.  It  is 
business  now,  and  they  cannot  be  combined. 

"Listen,  Mademoiselle,"  he  continued. 
"Not  three  miles  off  the  harbor  mouth  is 
a  French  ship  tacking  back  and  forth,  and 
not  entirely  for  pleasure.  Around  this  house 
at  present  are  enough  men  to  run  your 
estates  at  Blanzy.  A  sloop  has  come  into 
the  harbor  this  morning,  and  has  landed 
its  crew  for  my  especial  benefit.  A  dozen 
of  Napoleon's  agents  are  waiting  to  spring 
at  my  throat.  I  have  succeeded  so  that 

[178] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

there  is  not  a  man  in  town  who  would  not 
be  glad  to  see  me  on  a  yard  arm.  And  yet 
they  are  waiting,  Mademoiselle.  Is  it  not 
amusing?  Can  you  guess  why  they  are 
waiting?" 

He  took  a  pinch  of  snuff  and  dusted  his 
fingers. 

"Because  they  fear  that  I  may  burn  the 
paper  if  they  disturb  me.  They  believe  if 
they  keep  hidden,  if  I  do  not  suspect,  that  I 
may  venture  forth.  They  hope  to  take  me 
alive,  or  kill  me,  and  still  obtain  the  paper. 
Indeed,  it  is  their  one  hope.  It  would  be 
a  pity  to  disappoint  them." 

His  lips  had  parted,  and  his  eyes  were 
shining  in  the  candle  light. 

"There  are  few  things  which  move  me 
now,  my  lady.  All  that  I  really  enjoy  is  an 
amusing  situation,  and  this  one  is  very 
amusing.  Do  you  think  I  have  crossed  the 
ocean  to  deliver  this  document,  and  then 
I  shall  stop?  No,  Mademoiselle,  you  are 
mistaken." 

He  bowed  again,  and  stepped  backwards 
towards  the  door. 

"Pray  do  likewise,  Mademoiselle,  and 
forget,"  he  said.  "There  is  nothing  in  this 
little  episode  fit  for  you  to  remember.  It 
is  not  you  they  are  after,  and  you  will  be 

[179] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

quite  safe  here.  I  have  made  sure  of  that. 
My  son  will  remain  until  your  brother 
arrives,  and  will  dispense  what  hospitality 
you  require. 

"I  trust,"  he  added,  turning  to  me,  "you 
still  remember  why  you  have  been  here?" 

"  Indeed,  yes,"  I  answered. 

"Then  it  is  good-bye,  Henry.  I  shall  not 
bother  to  offer  you  my  hand.  Brutus,  you 
will  remain  with  my  son  until  a  quarter  to 


seven." 


Even  now  I  cannot  tell  what  made  a  mist 
come  over  my  eyes  and  a  lump  in  my  throat 
any  more  than  I  can  explain  my  subsequent 
actions  on  that  evening.  Was  it  possible  I 
was  sorry  to  see  the  last  of  him?  Or  was  it 
simply  self  pity  that  shortened  my  breath 
and  made  my  voice  seem  broken  and  dis 
cordant? 

"And  after  that?"  I  asked. 

He  looked  at  me  appraisingly,  tapping 
his  thin  fingers  on  his  sword  hilt. 

"After  that — "  He  stared  thoughtfully 
at  the  shadows  of  the  darkened  room.  Was 
he  thinking  as  I  was,  of  the  wasted  years 
and  what  the  end  would  be? 

"After  that,"  he  repeated,  half  to  him 
self,  "come,  I  will  make  an  appointment 
with  you  after  that — on  the  other  side  of 

[180] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

the  Styx,  my  son.  I  shall  be  waiting  there, 
I  promise  you,  and  we  shall  drink  some 
corked  ambrosia.  Surely  the  gods  must  give 
a  little  to  the  shades,  or  at  any  rate,  Brutus 
shall  steal  some.  And  then  perhaps  you  shall 
tell  me  what  happened  after  that.  I  shall 
look  forward — I  shall  hope,  even,  that  it 
may  be  pleasant.  Good-bye,  my  son." 

I  think  he  had  often  planned  that  leave 
taking,  Surely  it  must  have  satisfied  him. 


[181] 


XIII 

He  was  gone,  like  the  shades  of  which  he 
had  spoken,  and  Mademoiselle  and  I  were 
left  staring  at  the  black  rectangle  of  the 
broken  door.  I  drew  a  deep  breath  and 
looked  about  me  quickly.  It  seemed  some 
how  as  though  a  spell  were  broken,  as  though 
the  curtain  had  lowered  on  some  final  act  in 
the  theatre.  Slowly  my  mind  seemed  to 
free  itself  from  a  hundred  illusions,  and  to 
move  along  more  logical  paths.  Brutus  went 
to  the  arms  rack  in  the  corner,  and  selected 
a  rusted  cutlass  from  the  small  arms  that 
still  rested  there,  thrust  it  at  me  playfully 
and  grinned.  For  a  minute  or  even  more, 
the  single  log  that  was  still  burning  in  the 
fireplace  hissed  drowsily,  and  I  could  hear 
the  vines  tapping  gently  on  the  windows. 
Then  I  heard  a  pistol  shot,  followed  by  a 
hoarse  cry.  Mademoiselle  started  to  her 
feet,  and  then  sank  back  in  her  chair  again, 
and  from  where  I  was  standing  I  could  see 
that  her  face  was  white  and  her  hands  were 
trembling.  So  she  loved  him.  My  hand 
gripped  hard  against  the  back  of  a  chair. 
Why  should  I  have  hoped  she  did  not? 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"God!"  she  gasped.  "I  have  killed  him!" 

"You?"  I  cried,  but  she  did  not  answer. 

"Huh!"  said  Brutus,  and  his  grin  grew 
broader.  "Monsieur's  pistol.  He  kill  him." 

"Indeed,"  I  said,  for  the  sense  of  unreality 
was  still  strong  upon  me.  "And  whom  did 
he  kill,  Brutus?" 

Brutus  cocked  his  head  to  one  side,  and 
listened.  Somewhere  behind  came  a  con 
fusion  of  shouts  and  the  thudding  of  horses' 
hoofs. 

^He  kill  Mr.  Jason  Hill/;  said  Brutus. 

"Are  you  sure?"  Mademoiselle  demanded 
sharply. 

Brutus  nodded,  and  the  dull,  fixed  look 
went  out  of  her  eyes,  and  slowly  a  touch  of 
color  returned  to  her  cheeks. 

And  then  there  was  a  clamor  of  voices  and 
a  tramp  of  feet  and  a  crash  on  the  door 
outside. 

Brutus  looked  about  him  in  wild  inde 
cision. 

"We  have  callers,"  I  observed,  doing  my 
best  to  keep  my  voice  calm.  "Who  are 
they,  Brutus?" 

Brutus,  however,  had  forgotten  me,  and 
had  sprung  into  the  hall.  At  almost  the 
same  instant,  someone  must  have  dis 
covered  that  the  door  was  unlocked,  for  a 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

sudden  draught  eddied  through  the  passage. 
Then  there  was  a  confused  babel  of  voices,  to 
which  I  did  not  listen.  I  was  busy  swinging 
up  the  sash  of  the  nearest  window. 

"Quickly,  Mademoiselle!"  I  whispered. 

"Damn  it!"  someone  shouted  from  the 
hall.  " There's  another  of  'em!"  And  there 
came  the  crack  of  a  pistol  that  echoed 
loudly  in  the  passage. 

"It  is  time  we  were  going,"  I  said.  "Out 
of  the  window,  Mademoiselle!" 

In  my  haste  I  almost  pushed  her  from 
the  sill  to  the  lawn,  and  was  leaning  towards 
her. 

"Mademoiselle,  listen!  The  stables  are 
straight  to  the  left.  Can  you  saddle  a 
horse?" 

She  nodded. 

"The  first  stall  to  the  right.  I  shall  be 
there  in  an  instant!"  For  I  remembered  my 
sword,  and  sprang  back  into  the  room  to 
get  it. 

"Get  that  man!"  someone  was  shouting. 
"In  after  him,  you  fools!  Don't  shoot  in 
the  dark!" 

I  had  a  glimpse  of  Brutus  darting  through 
the  passage  and  making  a  leap  for  the 
stairs.  Then  there  was  a  crash  of  glass. 

"Begad!"  came  a  hoarse  voice.    "He's 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

jumped  clean  through  the  window!"  And 
another  pistol  exploded  from  the  landing 
above  me. 

"Five  hundred  dollars  for  the  man  who 
gets  him."  I  could  swear  I  had  heard  the 
voice  before.  "Damn  it!  Don't  let  him  go! 
Out  the  door,  all  of  you !  Out  the  door,  men ! 
Out  the  door!" 

There  was  a  rush  of  feet  through  the 
passage.  I  had  a  glimpse  of  men  running 
past,  and  then  I  was  half  out  the  window. 

"Stop!"  someone  shouted.  I  took  a 
hasty  glance  behind  me  to  find  that  my 
Uncle  Jason  had  entered  the  morning  room, 
his  clothing  torn  and  disarranged,  the  good 
nature  erased  from  his  face,  and  a  gash  on 
his  left  cheek  that  still  was  bleeding. 

"Stop!"  he  shouted  again,  "or  I  fire!" 

Then  I  was  out  on  the  lawn  with  the  cool 
air  from  the  river  on  my  face,  and  running 
for  the  stable.  I  wonder  what  would  have 
happened  if  the  evening  had  been  less  far 
advanced,  or  the  sky  less  overcast,  or 
Mademoiselle  less  adroit  than  providence 
had  made  her.  She  had  bridled  the  horse 
and  was  swinging  the  saddle  on  him  when  I 
had  reached  the  stable's  shadow.  I  could 
hear  my  uncle  shouting  for  assistance  as  I 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

tightened  the  girths,  but  Brutus  must  have 
led  his  men  a  pretty  chase. 

I  mounted  unmolested,  as  I  somehow 
knew  I  should,  and  helped  her  up  behind 
me.  Somehow  with  that  first  crash  on  our 
front  door,  I  knew  that  the  game  had 
turned.  I  knew  that  nothing  would  stop 
me.  An  odd  sense  of  exaltation  came  over 
me,  and  with  it  a  strange  desire  to  laugh. 
It  would  be  amusing  enough  when  I  met  my 
father,  but  I  wondered — I  wondered  as  I 
clapped  my  heels  into  my  horse's  flanks. 

What  had  my  uncle  to  do  in  this  affair? 


[186] 


XIV 

It  was  just  that  time  in  an  autumn  day 
when  the  light  is  fading  out  of  the  sky. 
The  thick,  heavy  mists  that  the  cold  air 
encourages  were  rolling  in  chill  and  heavy 
from  the  river  and  leveling  the  hollow 
places  in  the  land.  The  clouds  were  still  a 
claret  colored  purple  in  the  west,  but  in 
another  few  minutes  that  color  would  be 
gone.  The  shapes  around  us  were  fast 
losing  their  distinctiveness,  and  their  out 
lines  were  becoming  more  and  more  a  matter 
for  the  memory,  and  not  the  eye.  And  it 
seems  to  me  that  I  never  knew  the  air  to 
seem  more  fresh  and  sweet. 

We  had  broken  into  a  sharp  gallop  down 
the  rutted  lane.  The  house,  gaunt  and 
spectral,  and  bleaker  and  more  forbidding 
than  the  darkening  sky,  was  behind  us,  and 
ahead  were  the  broad  level  meadows,  check 
ered  with  little  clumps  of  willow  and  cedars, 
as  meadows  are  that  lie  near  the  salt 
marshes.  I  had  feared  we  might  be  inter 
cepted  at  our  gate,  but  I  was  mistaken.  We 
had  swerved  to  the  left  and  were  thudding 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

down  the  level  road,  when  an  exclamation 
from  Mademoiselle  made  me  turn  in  my 
saddle.  My  look  must  have  been  a  some 
what  blank  interrogation,  for  Mademoiselle 
was  laughing. 

"To  think,"  she  cried,  "I  should  have 
said  you  resembled  your  mother!  Where 
are  we  going,  Monsieur?" 

But  I  think  she  knew  without  my  answer 
ing,  for  she  laughed  again,  and  I  did  not 
entirely  blame  her.  It  was  pleasant  enough 
to  leave  our  house  behind.  It  was  pleasant 
to  feel  the  bite  of  the  salt  wind,  and  to  see 
the  trees  and  the  rocks  by  the  roadside 
slip  past  us,  gaunt  and  spectral  in  the 
evening.  I  knew  the  road  well  enough, 
which  was  fortunate,  even  when  we  turned 
off  the  beaten  track  over  a  trail  which  was 
hardly  as  good  as  a  foot  path.  I  was  forced 
to  reduce  our  pace  to  a  walk,  but  I  was  con 
fident  that  it  did  not  make  much  difference. 
Once  on  the  path,  the  farm  was  not  half  a 
mile  distant,  just  behind  a  ridge  of  rocks 
that  was  studded  by  a  stunted  undergrowth 
of  wind  beaten  oak.  I  knew  the  place.  I 
could  already  picture  the  gaping  black 
windows,  the  broken,  sagging  ridge  pole, 
and  the  crumbling  chimney.  For  years  the 
wind  had  blown  sighing  through  its  deserted 

[188] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

rooms,  while  the  rain  rotted  the  planking. 
It  was  not  strange  that  its  owners  had  left 
it,  for  I  can  imagine  no  more  mournful  or 
desolate  spot.  Our  own  house,  three  miles 
away,  was  its  nearest  neighbor,  and  scarcely 
a  congenial  one.  Around  it  was  nothing  but 
rain  sogged  meadows  that  scarcely  rose 
above  the  salt  marshes  that  ran  to  the  dunes 
where  the  Atlantic  was  beating. 

As  I  stared  grimly  ahead,  I  could  picture 
her  there  behind  me,  the  wind  whipping 
the  color  to  her  cheeks  and  playing  with  her 
hair,  her  eyes  bright  and  gay  in  the  half- 
light.  Save  for  the  steady  plodding  of  the 
horse,  it  was  very  still.  I  fancied  that  she 
had  leaned  nearer,  that  her  shoulder  was 
touching  mine,  that  I  could  feel  her  breath 
on  my  cheek.  Then  she  spoke,  and  her 
voice  was  almost  a  whisper. 

"It  was  good  of  you  to  take  me  with 
you,"  she  said. 

"Surely,  Mademoiselle,"  I  replied,  "You 
did  not  think  that  I  would  leave  you?" 

"I  should,  if  I  had  been  you,"  she  an 
swered,  "I  was  rude  to  you,  Monsieur,  and 
unjust  to  you  this  morning.  You  see  I  did 
not  know." 

"You  did  not  know?" 

"That  the  son  would  be  as  brave  and  as 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

resourceful  as  the  father.  You  are,  Mon 
sieur,  and  yet  you  are  different." 

"Yes,"  I  said. 

"And  I  am  glad,  glad,"  said  Mademoi 
selle. 

"And  I  am  sorry  you  are  glad,"  I  said. 

"You  are  sorry?" 

"Perhaps,  Mademoiselle,"  I  replied  with  a 
tinge  of  bitterness  I  could  not  suppress, 
"if  I  had  seen  more  of  the  world,  if  my 
clothes  were  in  better  taste,  and  my  man 
ners  less  abrupt — you  would  feel  differently. 
I  wonder.  But  let  us  be  silent,  for  we  are 
almost  there." 

As  we  drew  near,  making  our  way  through 
damp  thickets,  a  sense  of  uneasiness  came 
over  me.  Somehow  I  feared  we  might  be  too 
late,  though  I  knew  that  this  was  hardly 
possible.  I  feared,  and  yet  I  knew  well 
enough  it  was  written  somewhere  that  we 
should  meet  once  more.  With  six  men  after 
him  he  would  not  have  ridden  straight  to 
the  place.  We  should  meet,  and  it  would  be 
different  from  our  other  meetings.  I  wished 
that  it  was  light  enough  to  see  his  face. 

At  a  turn  of  the  path  I  reined  up  and 
listened.  It  was  very  still.  Already  the  light 
had  gone  out  of  the  sky,  and  little  was  left 

[190] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

of  the  land  about  us,  save  varying  tones  of 
black.  Had  he  gone? 

I  cautiously  dismounted.  In  a  minute 
we  should  see.  In  a  minute — Then  Made 
moiselle  interrupted  me,  and  I  was  both 
astonished  and  irritated,  for  my  nerves 
were  more  on  edge  than  I  cared  to  have 
them.  She  was  right.  She  was  never  over 
wrought. 

"We  are  there ?"  she  inquired. 

"Softly,  Mademoiselle/'  I  cautioned  her. 
"If  you  will  dismount,  you  can  see  the  place. 
It  is  not  three  hundred  feet  beyond  the 
thicket.  So !  You  will  admit  it  is  not  much 
to  look  at.  If  you  will  hold  the  horse's  head, 
I  will  go  forward." 

I  did  not  listen  to  an  objection  that  she 
was  framing,  but  slipped  hastily  through 
the  trees.  As  the  ugly  mass  of  the  Jiouse 
took  a  more  certain  shape  before  me,  I  felt 
my  pulse  beat  more  rapidly,  and  not  en 
tirely  through  elation.  Even  today  when  I 
look  at  a  place  that  men  have  built  and 
then  abandoned,  something  of  the  same 
feeling  comes  over  me,  but  not  as  strongly 
as  it  did  that  evening.  It  was  another  matter 
that  made  me  hesitate.  From  the  shadow  of 
the  doorway  I  heard  a  sound  which  was  too 
much  like  the  raising  of  a  pistol  hammer  not 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

to  make  me  remember  that  a  sword  was  all 
I  carried. 

"There  is  no  need  to  cock  that  pistol," 
I  said,  in  a  tone  which  I  hoped  sounded 
more  confident  than  my  state  of  mind.  I 
halted,  but  there  was  no  answer  and  no 
further  sound. 

"I  said,"  I  repeated,  raising  my  voice, 
"  there  is  no  need  to  cock  that  pistol.  It  is  a 
friend  of  Captain  Shelton  who  is  speaking." 

"So,"  said  a  voice  in  careful,  precise 
English.  "Walk  three  paces  forward,  if  you 

?1ease,  and  slowly,  v-e-r-y  slowly.  Now. 
ou  are  a  friend  of  the  captain?" 

"In  a  sense,"  I  replied.  "I  am  his  son. 
I  have  come  to  you  with  a  message." 

"So,"  said  the  voice  again,  and  I  saw  that 
a  man  was  seated  before  me  on  the  stone 
that  had  served  as  a  doorstep,  a  man  who 
was  balancing  a  pistol  in  the  palm  of  his 
hand. 

"I  fear  I  have  been  rude,"  he  said,  "but 
I  find  this  place — what  shall  I  say? — 
annoying.  Your  voices  are  alike,  and  I 
know  he  has  a  son.  You  say  you  bring  a 
message?" 

I  had  thought  what  to  say. 

"It  is  about  the  paper,"  I  began.    "The 

[192] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

captain  was  to  bring  it  to  you  here,  and 
now  he  finds  he  cannot." 

"Cannot?"  he  said,  with  the  rising  inflec 
tion  of  another  language  than  ours.  "Can- 
not?" 

"Rather,"  I  corrected  myself  hastily, 
"he  finds  it  more  expedient  to  meet  you 
elsewhere." 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "that  is  better.  For  a 
moment  I  feared  the  captain  was  dead. 
So  the  paper — he  still  has  it?" 

"He  not  only  has  it,"  I  said,  "but  he  is 
ready  to  give  it  to  you — at  another  place  he 
has  named.  You  are  a  stranger  to  the 
country  here?" 

My  question   was  not  a  welcome  one. 

"Absolute!"  he  replied  with  conviction. 
"Do  you  take  me  for  a  native  of  these  sink 
holes  ?  Mon  Dieu !  Does  your  mud  so  com 
pletely  cover  me?  But  surely  it  must  be  this 
cursed  darkness,  or  you  would  have  said  dif 
ferently.  Where  is  this  other  place?" 

I  was  glad  it  was  too  dark  for  him  to  see 
my  smile. 

"  Unfortunately  I  cannot  guide  you  there," 
I  said,  "for  I  am  to  stop  here  in  case  I  am 
followed.  We  have  had  to  be  careful,  very 
careful  indeed — you  understand?" 

Impatiently  he  shifted  his  position. 

[  193  ] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"For  six  months,"  he  replied  irritably, 
"I  have  been  doing  nothing  else — careful — 
always  careful.  It  becomes  unbearable,  but 
where  is  this  place  you  speak  of — in  some 
other  bog?" 

I  pointed  to  the  left  of  the  trees  where 
Mademoiselle  was  standing. 

"I  quite  understand,"  I  said  politely, 
"even  a  day  with  this  paper  is  quite  enough, 
but  it  is  not  a  bog  and  you  can  reach  it 
quite  easily.  You  see  where  I  point?  Simply 
follow  that  field  in  that  direction  for  half  a 
mile,  perhaps,  and  you  will  come  to  a  road. 
Turn  to  your  right,  and  after  three  miles 
you  will  see  a  house,  the  first  house  you  will 
meet,  in  fact.  It  has  a  gambrel  roof  and 
overlooks  the  river.  Simply  knock  on  the 
door  so — one  knock,  a  pause,  and  three  in 
succession.  It  will  be  understood.  You 
have  a  horse?" 

"  What  is  left  of  him,"  he  replied, "  though 
the  good  God  knows  how  he  has  carried  me 
along  this  far.  Yes,  he  is  attached  to  a  post. 
Well,  we  are  off,  and  may  the  paper  stay 
still  till  we  get  it.  You  wait  here?" 

"In  case  we  are  followed,"  I  said. 

He  pointed  straight  before  him. 

"I  have  been  hearing  noises  over  there, 
breaking  of  branches  and  shouts." 

[194] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"Then  in  the  name  of  heaven  ride  on/' 
I  said,  and  added  as  an  afterthought,  "and 
turn  out  to  the  side  if  you  see  anyone 
coming." 

The  pleasure  I  took  in  seeing  him  leave 
was  not  entirely  unalloyed.  As  I  walked  to 
the  oak  thicket  where  Mademoiselle  was 
waiting,  I  even  had  some  vague  idea  of 
calling  him  back,  for  I  do  not  believe  in 
doing  anyone  a  turn  that  is  worse  than 
necessary.  Yet  there  was  only  one  other  way 
I  could  think  of  to  keep  him  silent,  besides 
sending  him  where  he  was  going.  She  was 
feeding  the  horse  handfuls  of  grass. 

"It  is  quite  all  right,  Mademoiselle,"  I 
said.  "Let  us  move  to  the  house.  It  may 
be  more  comfortable  in  the  doorway." 

We  stood  silently  for  a  while,  listening  to 
the  wind  and  the  dull  monotonous  roar  of 
the  surf,  while  the  night  grew  blacker. 
I  listened  attentively,  but  there  was  no 
sound.  Surely  he  was  coming. 

"Tell  me,  Monsieur,"  said  Mademoiselle, 
"what  sort  of  woman  was  your  mother?" 

Unbidden,  a  picture  of  her  came  before 
me,  that  seemed  strangely  out  of  place' 

"She  was  very  beautiful,"  I  said. 

She  sighed. 

"And  very  proud,"  said  Mademoiselle. 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"Yes,  very  proud.  Why  did  she  call  him  a 
thief,  Monsieur?" 

But  I  did  not  answer. 

"You  are  certain  your  father  is  coming?" 
she  asked  finally. 

"I  think  there  is  no  doubt,"  I  told  her. 
"I  have  seen  him  ride,  Mademoiselle.  It 
would  take  more  than  a  dozen  men  to  lay 
hands  on  him.  They  should  have  known 
better  than  let  him  leave  the  house.  Listen, 
Mademoiselle!  I  believe  you  can  hear  him 


now." 


My  ears  were  quicker  in  those  days. 
For  a  minute  we  listened  in  silence,  and  then 
on  the  wind  I  heard  more  distinctly  still 
the  regular  thud  of  a  galloping  horse. 
So  he  was  coming,  as  I  knew  he  would.  I 
knew  he  would  be  methodical  and  accurate. 

"Yes,  Mademoiselle,"  I  continued,  "my 
father  has  many  accomplishments,  but  this 
time  even  he  may  be  surprised.  Who 
knows,  Mademoiselle?  Pray  step  back 
inside  the  doorway  until  I  call  you." 

But  she  did  not  move. 

"No,"  said  Mademoiselle,  "I  prefer  to 
stay  where  I  am.  I  have  seen  too  much  of 
you  and  your  father  to  leave  you  alone 
together."' 

[196] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"But  surely,  Mademoiselle,"  I  protested, 
"you  forget  why  we  have  come." 

"Yes,"  she  answered  quickly,  "yes,  you 
are  right.  I  do  forget.  I  have  seen  too  much 
of  this,  too  much  of  utter  useless  folly — 
too  many  men  dying,  too  many  suffering 
for  a  hopeless  cause.  I  have  seen  three  men 
lying  dead  in  our  hall,  and  as  many  more 
wounded.  I  have  seen  a  strong  man  turned 
into  a  blackguard.  I  have  seen  a  son  turned 
against  his  father,  and  all  for  a  bit  of  paper 
which  should  never  have  been  written.  I 
hate  it — do  you  hear  me? — and  if  I  forget 
it,  it  is  because  I  choose.  I  forget  it  be 
cause — "  She  seemed  about  to  tell  me  more, 
and  then  to  think  better  of  it.  "Surely  you 
see,  surely  you  see  you  cannot.  He  is  your 
father,  Monsieur,  the  man  who  is  coming 
here." 

"Mademoiselle,"  I  replied,  "you  are  far 
too  kind.  I  hardly  think  he  or  I  have  much 
reason  to  hold  our  lives  of  any  particular 
value,  but  as  you  have  said,  my  father  was  a 
gentleman  once,  and  gentlemen  very  seldom 
kill  their  sons,  nor  gentlemen's  sons  their 
fathers.  Pray  rest  assured,  Mademoiselle,  it 
will  be  a  quiet  interview.  I  beg  you,  be 
silent,  for  he  is^  almost  here." 

I  was  not  mistaken.   A  horse  was  on  the 

[197] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

path  we  followed,  running  hard,  and  crashing 
recklessly  through  the  bushes.  Before  I 
had  sight  of  him  I  heard  my  father's  voice. 

"Ives!"  he  called  sharply.  "Where  the 
devil  are  you?" 

And  in  an  instant  he  was  at  the  door,  his 
horse  breathing  in  hard,  sobbing  breaths, 
and  he  had  swung  from  the  saddle  as  I  went 
forward  to  meet  him. 

"Here,"  he  said,  "take  it,  and  be  off. 
Those  fools  have  run  me  over  half  the  state. 
In  fact,"  he  continued  in  the  calm  tones 
I  remember  best,  "in  fact,  I  have  seldom  had 
a  more  interesting  evening.  I  was  fired  on 
before  I  had  passed  the  gate,  and  chased 
as  though  I  carried  the  treasures  of  the  Raj. 
I  have  your  word  never  to  tell  where  you 
got  it.  Never  mind  my  reasons,  or  the 
thanks  either.  Take  it  Ives.  It  has  saved 
me  so  many  a  dull  day  that  it  has  quite 
repaid  my  trouble." 

There  he  was,  half  a  pace  away,  and  yet 
he  did  not  know  me.  I  think  it  was  that, 
more  than  anything  else,  which  robbed 
me  of  my  elation.  To  him  the  whole  thing 
seemed  an  ordinary  piece  of  business.  I 
saw  him  test  his  girth,  preparatory  to 
mounting  again,  saw  him  slowly  readjust 
his  cloak,  and  then  I  took  the  paper  he 
handed  me  and  buttoned  it  carefully  in  my 
inside  pocket.  He  turned  to  his  horse 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

again  and  laid  a  hand  on  his  withers,  but 
still  he  did  not  mount.  I  think  he  was 
staring  into  the  night  before  him  and  lis 
tening,  as  I  had  been.  Then  he  turned  again 
slowly,  and  half  faced  me.  On  the  wind,  far 
off  still,  but  nevertheless  distinct,  was  the 
sound  of  voices. 

"It  is  time  we  were  going,"  said  my 
father.  "I  only  gave  them  the  slip  five 
minutes  back.  It  was  closer  work  than  I 
had  expected." 

And  then  he  started,  and  looked  at  me 
more  intently  through  the  darkness. 

"Name  of  the  devil!"  said  my  father. 
"How  did  you  get  here?" 

But  that  was  all.  He  never  even  started. 
His  hand  still  rested  tranquilly  on  the  reins 
and  he  still  half  faced  me.  Had  it  been  so 
on  that  other  night  long  ago,  when  his  world 
crumbled  to  ruins  about  him?  Did  he 
always  win  and  lose  with  the  same  passive 
acquiescence?  Did  nothing  ever  astonish 
him?  There  was  a  moment's  silence,  and 
I  felt  his  eyes  on  me,  and  suddenly  became 
very  cautious.  I  knew  well  enough  he 
would  not  let  it  finish  in  such  a  manner, 
but  what  could  he  do?  The  game  was  in 
my  hands. 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"Quite  simply,"  I  told  him.  "Mv  horse 
was  in  the  stable/' 

When  he  spoke  again  his  voice  was  still 
pleasantly  conversational. 

"And  Brutus?"  he  asked.  "Where  the 
devil  was  Brutus  ?  Surely  the  age  of  miracles 
is  past.  Or  do  I  see  before  me — "  he  bowed 
with  all  his  old  courtesy —  "another  David?' 

"Brutus,"  I  replied,  "jumped  through  a 
second  story  window." 

"Indeed?"  he  said.  "He  always  was 
most  agile." 

"He  was,"  I  replied.  "Not  five  minutes 
after  you  left,  Uncle  Jason  arrived." 

My  father  removed  his  hand  from  the 
reins  and  looped  them  through  his  arm. 

"Indeed?"  he  said.  "He  came  in  heels 
first,  I  trust?" 

"No,"  I  said,  "he  is  alive  and  well." 

"The  devil!"  said  my  father,  and  sighed. 
"I  am  growing  old,  my  son.  I  know  my 
horse  spoiled  my  aim,  and  yet  he  fell,  and  I 
rode  over  him.  I  had  hoped  to  be  finished 
with  your  Uncle  Jason.  You  say  he  entered 
the  house?" 

"And  told  me  to  stop,"  I  said. 

"And  you  did  not?" 

"No,"  I  replied.   "I  succeeded  in  getting 
out  of  a  window  also." 
[  200] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

And  then,  although  I  could  not  see  him, 
I  knew  he  had  undergone  a  change,  and  I 
knew  that  I  was  facing  a  different  man. 

His  hand  fell  on  my  shoulder,  and  to  my 
surprise,  it  was  trembling. 

"God!"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  that  was  sud 
denly  harsh  and  forbidding.  "Do  you  mean 
to  tell  me  you  left  Mademoiselle,  and  never 
struck  a  blow?  You  left  her  there?" 

"Not  entirely,"  I  replied. 

My  father  became  very  gentle. 

"Will  you  be  done  with  this?"  he  said. 
"The  lady,  where  is  she  now?" 

And  then,  half  to  himself  he  added. 

"How  was  I  to  know  they  would  break  in 
the  house  after  I  had  gone?" 

"Mademoiselle,"  I  replied,  "is  not  fifteen 
feet  away." 

His  hand  went  up  to  the  clasp  of  his 
cloak,  and  again  his  voice  became  pleasantly 
conversational. 

"Ah,  that  is  better,"  said  my  father. 
"And  so  you  got  the  paper  after  all.  Yes, 
I  am  growing  old,  my  son.  I  appear  to 
have  bungled  badly.  Do  you  hope  to  keep 
the  paper?" 

In  the  distance  I  heard  a  voice  again 
raised  in  a  shout.  Surely  he  understood. 

[201] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 


"They  are  coming,"  I  said.  "Yes,  I 
intend  to  keep  the  paper." 

"Indeed?"  said  my  father.  "Perhaps  you 
will  explain  how,  my  son.  I  have  had  an 
active  evening,  but  you — I  confess  you  go 
quite  ahead  of  me." 

"Because,"  I  said,  "you  are  not  anxious 
to  go  back  to  France,  father,  and  you  are 
almost  on  your  way  there." 

"No,  not  to  France,"  he  answered,  and 
I  knew  he  saw  my  meaning. 

"And  yet  they  are  coming  to  take  you. 
If  you  so  much  as  offer  to  touch  me  again, 
I  shall  call  them,  father,  and  we  shall  go 
back  together.  Your  horse  is  tired.  He 
cannot  go  much  further." 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  I  pru 
dently  stepped  back. 

"You  might  shoot  me,  of  course,"  I 
added,  "but  a  pistol  shot  would  be  equally 
good.  Listen !  I  can  hear  them  on  the  road." 

But  oddly  enough,  he  was  not  disturbed. 

"On  the  road,  to  be  sure,"  said  my  father. 
"You  are  right,  Henry,  you  may  keep  the 
paper.  But  tell  me  one  thing  more.  Was 
there  no  one  here  when  you  arrived?" 

"There  was,"  I  said,  "but  I  sent  him 
away — to  our  house,  father." 

[202] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

He  sighed  and  smoothed  his  cloak 
thoughtfully. 

"I  fear  that  I  have  become  quite  hope 
less.  As  you  say,  if  I  fire  a  pistol,  they  will 
come,  and  now  I  can  hardly  see  any  reason 
to  keep  them  away.  So  you  sent  him  to  the 
house,  my  son?  And  Jason  is  still  alive? 
And  you  have  got  the  paper?  Can  it  be  that 
I  have  failed  in  everything?  Strange  how 
the  cards  fall  even  if  we  stack  the  deck. 
Ah,  well,  then  it  is  the  pistols  after  all." 

There  was  a  blinding  flash  and  the  roar 
of  a  weapon  close  beside  me,  and  I  heard 
Mademoiselle  scream.  My  father  turned  to 
quiet  his  horse. 

"Do  not  be  alarmed,  Mademoiselle,"  he 
said  gently,  "we  are  not  killing  each  other. 
I  am  merely  using  a  somewhat  rigorous 
method  of  bringing  my  son  to  his  senses." 

He  paused,  reached  under  his  cloak,  drew 
a  second  pistol  and  fired  again.  From  the 
road  there  came  a  sound  that  seemed  to 
ring  pleasantly  to  my  father's  ears. 

"Nearer  than  I  thought,"  he  said  brightly. 
"They  should  be  here  in  three  minutes  at  the 
outside.  ^Shall  we  sit  a  while  and  talk,  my 
son?  It  is  gloomy  here,  I  admit,  but  still, 
it  has  its  advantages.  They  thought  my 
rendezvous  was  ten  miles  to  the  north. 

[203] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

Lord,  what  fools  they  were!  Lawton  bit 
at  the  letter  I  let  him  seize  as  though  it 
were  pork.  Ah,  if  it  had  not  been  for  Jason ! 
Well,  everything  must  have  an  ending/' 

He  threw  his  bridle  over  his  arm,  and  was 
walking  toward  the  doorstep,  lightly  buoy 
ant,  as  though  some  weight  were  lifted  from 
his  mind.  Hastily  I  seized  his  arm. 

"Stop!"  I  cried.  "What  is  to  become  of 
Mademoiselle?  We  cannot  leave  her  here 
like  this.  Have  you  forgotten  she  is  with 

v> 

us: 

Seemingly  still  unhurried,  he  paused,  and 
glanced  toward  the  road,  and  then  back  at 
me,  and  then  for  the  first  time  he  laughed, 
and  his  laughter,  genuine  and  care-free,  gave 
me  a  start  which  the  sound  of  his  pistol  had 
not.  The  incongruity  of  it  set  my  nerves  on 
edge.  Was  there  nothing  that  would  give 
him  genuine  concern? 

"Good  God,  sir!"  I  shouted  furiously. 
"There's  nothing  to  laugh  about!  Don't 
you  hear  them  coming?" 

"Ah,"  said  my  father,  "I  thought  that 
would  fetch  you.  So  you  have  come  to  your 
senses  then,  and  we  can  go  on  together? 
Untie  your  horse,  Henry,  while  I  charge  the 
pistols." 

My  hand  was  on  the  bridle  rein,  when  a 

[204] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

shout  close  by  us  made  me  loosen  the  knot 
more  quickly  than  I  intended.  I  could  make 
out  the  black  form  of  a  horseman  moving 
towards  us  at  full  gallop. 

"It  must  be  Lawton,"  observed  my  father 
evenly.  "He  is  well  mounted,  and  quite 
reckless.  I  suppose  we  had  better  be  going. 
I  shall  help  Mademoiselle,  if  she  will  permit. 
No,  it  is  not  Lawton.  I  am  sorry." 

He  raised  his  arm  and  fired.  My  horse 
started  at  the  sound  of  his  shot,  and  as  I 
tried  to  quiet  him,  I  saw  my  father  lift 
Mademoiselle  to  the  saddle. 

"Yes,"  he  said  again,  "I  think  it  is  time 
to  be  going.  These  men  seem  to  have  a  most 
commendable  determination.  Ha!  There 
are  two  more  of  them.  Put  your  horse  to  the 
gallop,  my  son.  The  tide  is  out,  and  we  can 
manage  the  marsh." 

"The  marsh!"  I  exclaimed. 

"Quite,"  he  replied  tranquilly.  "If  Bru 
tus  is  alive,  he  will  have  a  boat  near  the 
dunes  opposite.  It  seems  as  though  we 
might  be  obliged  to  take  an  ocean  voyage." 

It  seemed  to  me  he  had  gone  quite  mad. 
The  marsh,  he  knew  as  well  as  I,  was  as  full 
of  holes  as  a  piece  of  cheese.  Even  in  the 
daytime  one  could  hardly  ride  across  it. 
And  then  I  knew  that  what  he  said  was  true, 

[205] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

that  he  would  stop  at  nothing;  and  sud 
denly  a  fear  came  over  me.  For  the  first 
/time  I  feared  the  quiet,  pleasant  man  who 
rode  beside  my  bridle  rein,  as  though  we 
were  traversing  the  main  street  of  our  town. 

"Ah,"  said  my  father,  "it  is  pleasant  to 
have  a  little  exercise.  Give  him  the  spurs 
Henry.  We  shall  either  get  across  or  we  shall 
not.  There  is  no  use  being  cautious." 

I  put  my  horse  over  a  ditch,  and  straight 
ahead,  I  may  have  ridden  four  hundred 
yards  with  the  even  beating  of  his  horse 
behind  me,  before  what  I  feared  happened. 
My  horse  stumbled,  and  the  pull  of  my 
bridle  barely  got  him  up  again.  I  gave  him 
the  spur,  but  he  was  failing.  In  a  quarter 
of  a  minute  he  had  fallen  again,  and  this 
time  the  bridle  did  not  raise  him.  I  sprang 
free  of  him  before  he  had  entirely  slipped 
down  in  the  soft  sea  mud.  He  was  lashing 
about  desperately,  nor  could  I  get  him  to 
answer  when  I  pulled  at  the  bridle.  My 
father  reined  up  beside  me  and  dismounted. 

"His  leg  is  broken,"  he  said.  "It  is  inop 
portune.  Ah,  they  are  still  after  us."  And 
he  turned  to  look  behind  him. 

"Why  are  you  waiting?"  I  cried.  "Ride 
on,  sir!" 

"And  leave  you  here  with  the  paper  in 

[206]' 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

your  pocket?"  said  my  father.  "The  fall 
has  quite  got  the  better  of  you.  The  other 
pistol,  Mademoiselle,  if  you  have  finished 
loading  it.  Here  they  come,  to  be  sure. 
Would  you  not  think  the  fools  would  realize 
I  can  hit  them?" 

He  fired  into  the  darkness  and  a  riderless 
horse  ran  almost  on  top  of  us.  With  a  snort 
of  fright,  he  reared  and  wheeled,  and  a 
second  shot  answered  my  father's. 

"Ah,"  said  my  father,  "they  always  will 
shoot  before  they  can  see.  The  pistol  from 
the  holster,  if  you  please,  Mademoiselle." 

They  had  not  realized  we  had  halted,  for 
the  last  rider  charged  past  us  before  he 
could  check  himself.  I  had  a  glimpse  of 
his  face,  white  against  the  night,  and  I  saw 
him  tug  furiously  at  his  bit — an  unfortunate 
matter,  so  it  happened,  for  the  footing 
beneath  the  marsh  grass  was  bad,  and  his 
horse  slewed  and  fell  on  top  of  him. 

"Pah!"  exclaimed  my  father.  "It  is 
almost  sad  to  watch  them.  Let  us  go,  Henry. 
He  is  knocked  even  more  senseless  than  he 
was  before.  Keep  the  saddle,  Mademoiselle, 
and  we  will  lead  you  across.  I  fancy  that 
is  the  last  of  them  for  a  moment." 

So  we  tumbled  through  the  mud  at  a 
walk,  slipping  noisily  at  every  step,  but 

[207] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

my  father  was  correct  in  his  prophecy.  Only 
the  noise  of  our  progress  interrupted  us. 
The  sand  dunes  were  becoming  something 
more  than  a  shadow.  My  father  walked 
in  tranquil  silence  at  the  bridle,  while  I 
trudged  beside  him. 

"Are  you  hurt,  Captain?"  Mademoiselle 
demanded. 

"Indeed  not,"  he  replied.  "What  was 
there  to  hurt  me?  I  was  thinking.  That  is 
all;  but  why  do  you  ask,  my  lady?  " 

"Only,"  said  Mademoiselle,  "because  you 
have  been  silent  for  the  past  five  minutes, 
and  you  never  are  more  gay  than  when  you 
embark  on  an  adventure.  I  never  heard 
you  say  two  words,  Captain,  until  that 
night  on  the  Loire." 

"Let  us  forget  the  Loire,"  replied  my 
father.  "Shall  I  be  quite  frank  with  you, 
Mademoiselle?" 

"It  would  be  amusing,"  she  admitted, 
leaning  from  the  saddle  towards  him,  "if 
it  were  only  possible,"  she  added. 

"Then  listen,  Mademoiselle,"  he  con 
tinued,  "and  I  shall  be  very  frank  indeed. 
It  must  be  the  sea  air  which  makes  me  so.  I 
seldom  talk  unless  I  feel  that  my  days  for 
talking  are  nearly  over,  and  at  present  they 
seem  to  stretch  before  me  most  intermin- 

[208] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE   GENTLEMAN 

ably.  In  a  moment  we  shall  see  the  boat, 
and  in  a  moment  the  Sea  Tern.  I  fear  I 
have  been  very  foolish/' 

"Father,"  I  inquired,  "will  you  answer 
me  a  question?" 

"Perhaps,"  said  my  father. 

"What  has  my  uncle  to  do  with  the 
paper?" 

"My  son,"  said  my  father,  "may  I  ask 
you  a  question?" 

"Perhaps,"  I  replied. 

"How  much  money  did  your  mother  leave 
you  at  her  death?" 

"She  had  none  to  leave,"  I  replied 
quickly. 

"Ah,"  said  my  father,  "have  you  ever 
wondered  why?" 

"You  should  be  able  to  tell  me,"  I 
answered  coldly. 

"Indeed,"  said  my  father.  "But  here  we 
are  at  the  dunes.  The  boat,  my  son,  do  you 
see  it?" 

I  scrambled  up  ahead  through  the  sand 
and  beach  grass,  and  the  white  line  of  the 
beach,  which  even  the  darkest  night  can 
never  hide,  lay  clear  before  me.  A  high 
surf  was  running,  and  beyond  it  I  could  see 
three  lights,  blinking  fitfully  in  the  black 
and  nearer  on  the  white  sand  was  the  shadow 

[209] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

of  a  fishing  boat,  pulled  just  above  the  tide 
mark.  A  minute  later  Brutus  came  run 
ning  toward  us. 

My  father  was  evidently  used  to  such 
small  matters.  Indeed,  the  whole  affair 
seemed  such  a  part  of  his  daily  life  as  to 
demand  nothing  unusual.  He  glanced  casu 
ally  at  the  waves  and  the  boat,  tossed  off 
his  cloak  on  the  sand,  carefully  wrapped  his 
pistols  inside  it,  and  placed  the  bundle  care 
fully  beneath  a  thwart. 

"The  rocket,  Brutus,"  said  my  father. 
"If  you  will  get  in,  Mademoiselle,  we  will 
contrive  to  push  you  through  the  breakers. 
Best  take  your  coat  off,  my  son,  and  place 
it  over  the  pistols." 


[210] 


XV 

Brutus  had  evidently  kept  a  slow  match 
burning,  for  with  a  sudden  flare  a  rocket 
flashed  into  the  wind.  In  the  momentary 
glare  of  the  light  I  could  see  my  father,  his 
lips  pressed  together  more  tightly  than 
usual,  but  alertly  courteous  as  ever,  helping 
Mademoiselle  over  the  side,  and  there  was 
Brutus  grinning  at  me.  Then  the  light  died, 
and  my  father  continued  giving  his  direc 
tions. 

"Stand  by  Master  Henry  at  the  stern, 
Brutus.  I  shall  stay  here  amidships.  Now 
into  the  water  when  I  give  the  word.  Pray 
do  not  be  alarmed,  Mademoiselle.  There  is 
quite  nothing  to  bother." 

A  breaker  crashed  down  on  the  beach 
ahead  of  us. 

"Now!"  he  shouted,  and  a  moment  later 
we  were  up  to  our  waists  in  water  that  was 
stinging  in  its  coldness. 

"Get  aboard,"  said  my  father.  "The 
oars,  Brutus." 

Drenched  and  gasping,  I  pulled  myself 
over  the  side  just  as  we  topped  a  second 

[211] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

wave.  My  father  was  beside  me,  as  bland 
and  unconcerned  as  ever. 

"You  see,  Mademoiselle/'  he  said,  "we 
are  quite  safe.  The  Sea  Tern  is  standing  in 
already.  While  Brutus  is  rowing,  my  son, 
we  had  better  load  the  pistols." 

"Surely  we  are  through  with  them,"  I 
said.  The  boat  was  tossing  wildly,  and 
Brutus  was  using  all  his  strength  and  skill 
to  keep  it  in  the  wind. 

"Still,"  said  my  father,  kneeling  on  the 
grating  beside  me,  "let  us  load  them. 
Look,  Henry,  I  think  we  got  off  in  very  good 


time." 


A  knot  of  horsemen  were  galloping  down 
the  beach  we  had  just  quitted. 

"They  must  have  taken  the  old  wagon 
road,"  he  said.  "I  had  thought  as  much. 
It  becomes  almost  tiresome,  this  running 
away." 

He  reached  for  his  cloak,  placed  it  over 
Mademoiselle's  shoulders,  and  seated  him 
self  in  the  stern  beside  her,  apparently  for 
getful  that  he  was  drenched  from  head  to 
foot. 

"You  are  not  afraid,  Mademoiselle?"  he 
asked. 

"Afraid?  Indeed  not,"  I  heard  her  reply, 
in  a  voice  that  was  muffled  by  the  wind. 

[212] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"It  is  a  luxury,  Captain,  which  you  have 
made  me  do  without  too  long." 

"Good,"  said  my  father,  a  motionless 
shadow  beside  her.  "If  you  cannot  trust 
yourself,  there  are  plenty  of  other  things  to 
trust  in — God,  for  example,  or  the  devil, 
if  you  prefer,  or  even  in  circumstances. 
How  useless  it  is  to  be  afraid  when  you 
remember  these!  Put  the  boat  up  a  little 
more,  Brutus." 

And  he  sat  silent,  watching  the  lights  of 
the  ship  towards  which  we  were  moving  with 
each  tug  that  Brutus  gave  the  oars.  The 
ship  also  was  drawing  nearer.  We  could 
make  out  the  spars  under  shortened  sail,  and 
soon  we  were  hailed  from  the  deck.  My 
father  called  back,  and  then  there  came  the 
snapping  of  canvass  as  they  put  up  the 
helm  and  the  ship  lost  way  tossing  in  the 
wind. 

Wet  and  shivering,  I  watched  her  draw 
toward  us.  So  this  was  the  end  after  all, 
and  I  was  glad  it  was  over — glad  that  I 
would  soon  be  quiet  and  alone  with  my 
thoughts.  Could  it  have  been  only  yester 
day  that  I  had  turned  my  horse  and  passed 
between  the  sagging  posts  that  marked 
the  entrance  to  his  house  ?  Was  it  only  a  day 
ago  I  had  first  seen  him  leaning  back  idly 

[213] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN       , 

in  his  arm  chair  by  the  fire? 

My  father  leaned  forward  and  thrust 
something  into  my  hand. 

"A  pistol,  Henry/'  he  said.  "Put  it 
inside  your  shirt.  It  will  be  a  souvenir  for 
you  when  you  are  home  again/* 

We  could  hear  the  waves  slapping  against 
the  vessel's  sides,  and  the  orders  from  the 
deck  above  us.  As  I  looked,  it  seemed  a 
perilous  distance  away. 

"Alongside,  Brutus,"  said  my  father. 

Two  lanterns  cast  a  feeble  glow  on  the 
sheets  of  water  that  rolled  under  us,  shoulder 
ing  our  frail  boat  impatiently  in  their  haste 
to  move  along.  Brutus  pulled  an  oar 
sharply.  I  saw  a  ladder  dangling  perilously 
from  the  bulwarks.  I  saw  Brutus  seize  it, 
and  then  our  boat,  arrested  and  stationary, 
began  to  toss  madly  in  ill-concerted  effort. 
My  father  sprang  up,  balancing  himself 
lightly  and  accurately  against  each  sudden 
roll.  ' 

"Now,  Mademoiselle,"  he  said,  "we  will 
get  on  deck.  Brutus  will  carry  you  up  quite 
safely.  Hold  the  ladder,  Henry,  hold  to 
it,  or  we  may  be  in  the  water  again." 

His  voice  was  still  coldly  precise,  not 
raised  even  to  a  higher  pitch. 

"You  are  chilled,  my  son?"  he  asked. 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"Never  mind,  we  will  have  brandy  in  a 
moment." 

Strange  how  the  years  make  the  path 
seem  smooth  and  mellow.  As  I  look  back  on 
it  today,  boarding  the  ship  seems  a  light 
enough  matter,  though  I  know  now  that 
every  moment  we  remained  by  the  ladder, 
eternity  was  staring  us  in  the  face.  Even 
now,  when  I  look  back  on  it,  the  water  is 
not  what  I  see,  nor  Brutus  grasping  at  the 
dangling  rope,  but  rather  my  father,  stand 
ing  watching  the  ladder,  detached  from  the 
motion  and  excitement  around  him,  a 
passive  onlooker  to  whom  what  might 
happen  seemed  a  matter  of  small  concern. 
Brutus,  holding  Mademoiselle  on  one  arm, 
managed  the  ladder  with  ready  adroitness, 
and  I  followed  safely,  but  not  before  I  had 
been  hurled  against  the  side  with  a  force 
that  nearly  drove  away  my  breath.  I 
reached  the  deck  to  find  a  lantern  thrust 
into  my  face,  and  stared  into  it,  for  the 
moment  quite  blinded. 

"It  is  the  son,"  remarked  a  voice  which 
I  thought  I  remembered,  and  then  my  father 
followed  me. 

"We  are  on  board,  Mr.  Aiken,"  he  called. 
"Never  mind  the  boat.  Get  your  men  on 
the  braces,  or  we'll  blow  on  shore." 

[215] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"Yes,  Captain  Shelton,"  said  the  voice 
again.  "You  are  on  board,  to  be  sure,  and 
very  prettily  done.  I  have  been  waiting 
for  you  all  evening. 

"Indeed,"  said  my  father,  in  his  old  level 
tone,  "and  who  the  devil  are  you?" 

"Mr.  Sims,  Captain,"  came  the  reply.  "I 
managed  to  seize  your  ship  before  it  left  the 
river.  It  is  hard,  after  so  much  trouble, 
but  you  are  my  prisoner,  Captain  Shelton." 

My  eyes  had  become  accustomed  to  the 
light.  I  looked  about  me  to  find  we  were  in 
the  center  of  a  group  of  men.  Mr.  Sims, 
small  and  watchful,  his  face  a  pale  yellow 
in  the  glow,  was  standing  beside  a  tall  man 
who  held  the  lantern  at  arm's  length.  My 
father  was  facing  him  about  two  paces 
distant,  his  hand  on  the  wet  and  bedraggled 
lapel  of  his  coat,  his  glance  vague  and 
thoughtful,  as  though  he  was  examining  at 
his  leisure  some  phenomenon  of  nature. 
Brutus,  looking  as  unpleasant  as  I  had  ever 
seen  him,  had  half  thrust  Mademoiselle 
behind  his  back,  and  stood  half  crouching, 
his  eye  on  my  father's  hand,  his  thick  lips 
moving  nervously.  My  father  patted  his 
coat  gently  and  sighed. 

"I  must  admit,"  he  said,  "that  this  is 
surprisingly,  indeed,  quite  delightfully  un- 

[216] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

expected.  I  hope  you  have  been  quite 
comfortable." 

Mr.  Sims  permitted  himself  to  smile. 

"I  told  them  you  were  a  man  of  sense/' 
he  said.  "Is  it  not  odd  that  only  you  and 
I  should  have  imagination  and  ingenuity? 
I  knew  you  would  see  when  the  game  is 
over.  My  compliments,  Captain  Shelton. 
You  deserve  to  have  done  better." 

"Of  course,"  said  my  father,  with  a  slow 
nod  of  assent,  "  I  see  when  the  game  is  over." 

"I  knew  you  would  be  reasonable,"  said 
Mr.  Sims.  "When  it  is  finished,  you  and  I 
stop  playing,  do  we  not?  Lam  sorry  we 
were  not  on  the  same  side,  but  I  have  been 
commissioned  to  take  you,  captain,  for  a 
little  man  whom  you  and  I  both  knew  back 
in  Paris.  I  have  a  dozen  men  aboard  now, 
who  will  get  us  to  the  harbor.  You  are  a 
prisoner  of  France,  as  you  have  doubtless 
guessed.  We  shall  all  be  trans-shipped  to 
Mr.  Jason  Hill's  schooner,  which  has  been 
waiting  for  you;  and  now  you  may  go 
below." 

Still  staring  thoughtfully  before  him,  my 
father  rested  his  chin  in  the  palm  of  his 
hand. 

"I  remember  you  now,"  he  said.  "And 
may  I  add  it  is  a  pleasure  to  have  met  you? 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE   GENTLEMAN 

It  is  still  a  pleasure,  much  as  I  resent  being 
taken  on  board  a  ship  I  own/' 

Mr.  Sims  bowed  ironically. 

"And  now,  Captain,  the  document,  if 
you  please,  unless  you  care  to  be  searched." 

I  thought  my  father  had  not  heard,  for  he 
still  looked  quite  blandly  at  the  lantern. 

"Would  you  mind  telling  me,"  he  in 
quired,  "what  became  of  my  crew?  You 
bribed  them,  I  suppose." 

"There  was  only  an  anchor  watch  on  deck 
when  we  came  on  board,"  said  Mr.  Sims. 
"We  drove  them  below  quite  easily.  The 
only  man  who  gave  us  any  trouble  was  your 
master.  We  had  to  hit  him  over  the  head 
when  he  reached  the  deck." 

My  father  nodded  slowly,  seemed  to  lose 
his  balance  on  the  rolling  deck,  recovered 
himself,  and  set  his  feet  a  trifle  wider  apart. 

"I  am  sincerely  sorry  for  you,  Mr.  Sims," 
he  said. 

But  if  Mr.  Sims  ever  asked  why,  it  was 
in  another  life  than  ours.  I  recall  his  sudden 
bewilderment,  but  I  never  have  understood 
exactly  how  it  happened.  I  remember 
Brutus'  eyes  on  my  father's  hand,  as  it 
moved  so  gently  over  his  coat.  It  must  have 
been  some  gesture,  smooth  and  impercep 
tible.  For  suddenly,  my  father's  languor 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

left  him,  suddenly  his  lips  curled  back  in  a 
smile  devoid  of  humor,  and  he  leapt  at  the 
lantern.  He  leapt,  and  at  the  same  instant, 
as  perfectly  timed  as  though  the  whole 
matter  had  been  carefully  rehearsed,  Brutus' 
great  bulk  had  streaked  across  the  deck, 
crashing  towards  Mr.  Sims  like  an  unleashed 
fury.  The  speed  of  it,  the  unexpectedness, 
the  sheer  audacity,  held  the  men  around  us 
motionless.  Mr.  Sims  had  barely  time  to 
level  the  pistol  he  was  holding;  but  when  he 
fired  the  deck  was  in  darkness. 

"This  way,  Mademoiselle,"  came  my 
father's  voice,  and  I  ran  towards  it.  "Hold 
them  off,  Brutus,"  he  was  calling.  "Ha! 
It  is  you,  my  son." 

While  he  was  speaking,  he  darted  lightly 
aft,  and  I  followed.  Behind  me  came  the 
confused  bable  of  struggling  men.  Someone 
was  calling  for  a  light,  and  someone  was 
shrieking  for  help.  A  man  with  a  lantern 
was  running  forward.  I  tripped  him  and  we 
fell  together,  and  then  I  felt  a  hand  on  my 
collar.  It  dragged  me  to  my  feet.  I  struck 
at  it  blindly,  while  I  felt  myself  being  half 
pulled,  half  carried  through  the  black. 
And  then  I  heard  my  father's  voice  again, 
close  beside  me,  as  slow  and  cold  as  ever. 

"Close  the  door,  Brutus,"  he  said.  "Listen 

[219] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

to  them.  They  must  think  we  are  still 
there." 

And  then  I  knew  what  had  happened. 
Brutus  had  dragged  me  with  him,  and  we 
were  in  a  cabin.  I  heard  my  father  fumbling 
about  in  the  dark. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "here  is  the  powder. 
Load  these  pistols,  Brutus.  Gently,  you 
fool!  Do  you  want  to  kill  me?" 

"You  are  hurt,  captain,"  cried  Made 
moiselle. 

"It  is  not  worth  troubling  over,"  said  my 
father.  "And  you,  my  lady,  you  are  quite 
all  right?  I  fear  I  handled  you  roughly. 
I  was  afraid  for  a  moment  we  might  be 
inconvenienced." 

"And  now,"  I  said  sarcastically,  speaking 
into  the  darkness  before  me,  "I  suppose  our 
troubles  are  over." 

"I  think  so,"  replied  my  father.  "Now 
that  Brutus  has  thrown  Mr.  Sims  over 
board.  It  might  be  different  if  he  were  still 
with  us.  He  seemed  to  be  a  determined  and 
resourceful  man.  We  are  in  the  after  cabin, 
Henry,  quite  the  pleasantest  one  on  the 
ship,  and  not  ten  paces  from  the  wheel." 

Still  out  of  breath,  still  confused,  I  tried 
to  look,  but  could  see  nothing.  I  could  only 
smell  the  pungent  odor  of  tarred  rope  and 

[  220] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

stale  tobacco  smoke.  Having  finished  speak 
ing,  I  could  hear  my  father  still  moving 
about  deliberately  and  moderately,  seem 
ingly  well  pleased  at  the  place  where  we  had 
been  driven. 

"Yes/'  he  said  again,  "not  ten  paces  from 
the  wheel,  and  now  we  will  finish  it." 

"Will  you  never  be  serious,  sir?"  I  cried. 
"  Do  you  suppose  they  are  going  to  let  you 
take  charge  of  the  ship?" 

"I  think  so,"  replied  my  father.  "But 
first,  I  must  take  a  swallow  from  my  flask. 
There  is  nothing  like  a  drink  to  rest  one. 
Open  the  port  by  the  door,  Brutus." 

And  I  felt  him  groping  his  way  past  me. 

"Brutus,"  he  said,  "pass  the  flask  to 
my  son,  and  give  me  a  pistol,  and  steady 
me  with  your  arm — so.  Ah,  that  is  better — 
much  better.  .  .  ." 

He  fired,  and  the  sound  of  his  pistol  in 
the  closed  room  made  my  ears  ring,  and 
then  the  ship  lurched,  so  that  I  had  nearly 
lost  my  balance.  We  were  rolling  heavily 
in  the  trough  of  the  sea,  and  outside  the 
canvas  was  snapping  like  a  dozen  small 
arms,  and  then  I  knew  what  had  happened. 
My  father  had  shot  the  man  at  the  helm — 
shot  him  where  he  stood,  so  that  the  wheel 
had  broken  from  his  grasp,  so  that  the  ship 

[221] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

was  out  of  control,  and  the  wind  was  blowing 
it  on  shore.  Had  he  thought  of  the  plan 
while  he  was  watching  Mr.  Sims  in  the  light 
of  the  lantern?  I  half  suspected  that  he 
had  not,  but  I  never  knew. 

"Open  the  door,  Brutus,"  said  my  father, 
and  suddenly  his  voice  was  raised  to  a  shout 
that  rose  above  the  wind  and  the  sails. 

"Keep  clear  of  that  wheel!  If  a  single 
man  touches  it — do  you  hear  me? — Stand 
clear!"  And  he  fired  again,  and  the  Sea 
Tern  still  lurched  in  the  trough  of  the  sea. 

I  ran  to  the  door  beside  him.  Ten  paces 
away  the  light  of  the  binnacle  was  burning, 
and  by  it  I  saw  two  men  lying  huddled  on 
the  deck,  and  the  ship's  wheel  whirling 
backwards  and  forwards  as  the  waves  hit 
the  rudder. 

"Get  the  wheel!"  someone  was  shouting 
frantically.  "Get  the  wheel!  She's  being 
blown  on  the  bar.  Get  the  wheel!" 

"Stand  clear,  you  dogs,"  called  my  father. 
"We're  all  going  on  the  bar  together." 

"Brutus,"  he  added,  "go  forward  and 
open  the  forecastle,  and  tell  my  men  to 
clear  the  decks.  If  any  of  these  fools  notice 
you,  kill  them,  but  they  won't,  Brutus, 
they  won't.  Their  minds  are  too  much  set 
on  a  watery  grave." 

[222] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

The  ship  heeled  far  over  on  her  side  as 
another  gust  of  wind  took  her.  Six  men 
were  clinging  to  the  rail  to  keep  their 
balance,  staring  at  my  father  with  white 
faces,  while  sea  after  sea  swept  over  the 
bulwarks.  Three  of  them  were  edging 
toward  us,  when  a  wave  caught  them  and 
sent  them  sprawling  almost  to  his  feet. 

"Your  sword,  Henry,"  called  my  father. 
I  ducked  under  his  arm,  and  stepped  out 
on  the  swaying  deck,  but  they  did  not  wait. 

"Ah,"  said  my  father,  "here  they  come. 
Brutus  was  quicker  than  I  could  have 
hoped." 

"Aiken!"  he  shouted,  "are  you  there? 
Put  up  that  helm,  or  we'll  be  drowned. 
Put  up  that  helm  and  get  your  men  on  the 
braces.  DVou  hear  me?  Get  some  way  on 
the  ship." 

A  hoarse  voice  bellowed  out  an  order,  and 
another  answered. 

"Good,"  said  my  father.  "It  was  a 
nearer  thing  than  I  expected.  You  can  hear 
the  breakers  now.  Give  me  your  arm,  my 
son.  A  lantern,  Brutus." 


[223] 


XVI 

And  so  it  was  over,  over  almost  before  I 
could  grasp  what  had  happened. 

The  light  that  Brutus  was  holding  showed 
me  the  white  walls  of  the  cabin,  with  charts 
nailed  upon  them.  A  table  was  secured 
to  the  deck,  with  two  chairs  beside  it.  These, 
two  lockers  and  a  berth  made  up  the  cabin's 
entire  furnishings.  But  I  hardly  took  the 
time  to  look  about  me,  for  the  sight  of  my 
father  gave  me  a  start  of  consternation. 
His  blue  coat,  wringing  wet  with  sea  water, 
and  still  stamped  with  splashes  of  mud,  was 
half  ripped  from  his  shoulders.  A  piece  of 
lace  dangled  like  a  dirty  ribbon  from  his 
neck.  The  powder  in  his  hair  was  clotted 
in  little  streaks  of  white.  His  face  was 
like  a  piece  of  yellow  parchment.  His 
left  arm  hung  limp  by  his  side,  and  in  his 
right  hand  he  still  clutched  an  empty  pistol. 
He  tossed  it  carelessly  to  the  floor,  and 
gripped  the  back  of  the  nearest  chair,  staring 
straight  at  Mademoiselle,  who  was  standing 
opposite,  his  cloak  still  about  her.  Slowly 
he  inclined  his  head,  and  when  he  looked 
up  he  was  smiling. 

[224] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"You  are  quite  all  right,  my  lady?"  he 
asked  anxiously.  "I  am  sorry  you  have 
been  startled.  Believe  me,  I  did  not  realize 
this  little  surprise  would  be  waiting  for  us. 
It  was  careless  of  me  not  to  have  thought, 
very  careless.  Help  her  to  a  chair,  Henry." 

"Will  you  always  be  polite?"  she  cried, 
with  a  little  catch  in  her  voice.  "Will  you 
never  think  of  yourself?  You  are  wounded, 
Captain.  And  what  are  you  staring  at?"  she 
cried,  turning  to  me.  "Come  here,  sir,  and 
help  me  with  his  coat." 

My  father  sank  into  a  chair,  and  his  pale 
lips  relaxed. 

"Pray  do  not  concern  yourself,"  he  re 
plied  gravely.  "I  think  of  myself,  Made 
moiselle,  of  myself  always,  and  now  I  am 
very  fortunate,  but  the  blue  from  my  coat 
is  running  on  your  dress.  Brutus  will  see  to 
me,  Mademoiselle.  He  is  quite  used  to  it. 
The  rum,  Brutus.  You  will_find  it  in  the 
starboard  locker." 

But  it  was  Mademoiselle  who  found  the 
bottle  and  poured  him  a  glass.  He  drank 
it  quickly. 

"Again,  if  you  please,"  he  said,  and  a 
shade  of  color  returned  to  his  cheeks.  "The 
water  was  uncommonly  cold  tonight.  How 
much  better  the  sea  would  be,  if  the  Lord 

[225] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

had  mixed  in  a  dash  of  spirits.  There  is  a 
coat  in  the  locker,  Brutus,  and  you  may  find 
some  splints  and  a  piece  of  twine.  I  fear  my 
arm  is  broken." 

Mademoiselle  had  taken  Brutus'  knife  and 
was  cutting  away  his  sleeve,  half  soaked 
with  blood.  He  sighed  and  smiled  a  little 
sadly. 

"So  Sims  hit  me  after  all,"  he  said.  "It 
must  be  age.  I  was  not  so  clumsy  once. 
The  bandages,  Brutus." 

He  watched  us  with  a  mild  interest,  and 
then  his  mind  turned  to  other  matters,  and 
he  seemed  regardless  of  the  pain  we  caused 
him. 

"My  son,"  he  said,  turning  to  me,  "you 
made  a  statement  a  while  ago  which  inter 
ested  me  strangely.  I  was  preoccupied,  and 
perhaps  I  did  not  hear  you  aright,  but  it 
seemed  you  said  I  should  know  what  had 
become  of  your  mother's  money.  What  am 
I  to  understand  by  that?" 

"You  are  hurt,  sir,"  I  replied.  "Why  go 
go  into  a  painful  matter  now?  We  have 
kept  it  quiet  long  enough.  Only  three  people 
knew  that  it  happened,  and  one  of  them  is 
dead.  Let  us  forget  it,  father.  I  am  willing 
if  you  are." 

My  father  raised  his  eyebrows,  and  it 

•  [226] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

seemed  to  me  that  pain  had  made  his  face 
look  older,  and  not  even  the  smile  on  his 
lips  concealed  little  lines  of  suffering. 

"And  what  are  we  to  forget?"  he  asked. 

"Surely  you  know/'  I  said. 

"No,"  said  my  father,  "I  do  not.  Out 
with  it — what  are  we  to  forget?" 

Was  he  still  acting?  Was  it  ever  possible 
to  understand  him?  Perhaps  even  now  he 
was  turning  the  situation  into  a  jest,  and 
smiling  to  himself  as  he  watched  me.  And 
yet  somehow  I  had  ceased  to  hate  him. 

"Do  you  mean,"  I  asked  "that  you 
never  took  it?" 

Slowly  my  father's  body  straightened  in 
his  chair,  and  his  lips,  drawn  tight  together, 
seemed  to  repress  an  exclamation. 

"So  he  told  you  that,"  he  said.  "He 
told  you  that  I  made  off  with  her  for 
tune?  Gad!  but  he  was  clever,  very,  very 
clever." 

He  paused,  and  refilled  his  glass,  and  held 
it  steadily  before  him.  His  voice,  when  he 
spoke,  was  gentle,  and,  like  his  face,  strung 
taut  with  pain. 

"No  wonder  she  never  sent  me  word," 
he  murmured. 

"Do  you  mean,"  I  asked,  "that  you 
never  took  it?" 

[227] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

For  a  second  he  did  not  reply — only 
looked  thoughtfully  before  him,  as  if  he  saw 
something  that  we  would  never  see. 

"Why  go  into  a  painful  matter  now?" 
said  my  father  at  length.  "Brutus,  call  in 
Mr.  Aiken." 

He  lurched  into  the  cabin  a  half  a  minute 
later.  His  sea  cloak  was  gone.  His  shirt, 
none  too  white  the  previous  afternoon,  was 
torn  and  scraped  as  though  it  had  scrubbed 
the  deck,  and  he  had  transferred  his  red 
handkerchief  from  his  neck  to  his  head,  so 
that  his  tangled  hair  waved  around  it  like 
some  wild  halo.  His  heavy  hands,  bruised 
and  scarred,  were  working  restlessly  at  his 
sides.  He  glanced  at  my  father's  bandaged 
arm,  and  his  jaw  thrust  forward. 

"I  warned  'em,  captain,"  he  cried 
hoarsely.  "By  heaven,  I  warned  'em. 
'Damn  you,'  I  says,  'hell  will  break  loose 
when  the  captain  climbs  aboard,'  and  it  did, 
so  help  me.  There  was  fifteen  of  'em  and 
now  there's  six,  and  the  crew  has  'em  in  the 
forecastle  now,  beating  'em,  sir!  And  now, 
by  thunder,  we'll  sling  'em  overboard!" 

"That  would  be  a  pity,"  said  my  father. 
"Let  them  sail  with  us.  I  shall  make  it 
more  unpleasant  than  drowning.  Which 
way  are  we  heading,  Ned?" 

[228] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"Due  east  by  south,"  said  Mr.  Aiken, 
"and  we're  ready  to  show  heels  to  anything. 
I  can  drop  a  reef  off  now  if  you  want  it." 

"Good,"  said  my  father.  "Put  on  all  the 
sail  she  will  carry." 

Mr.  Aiken  grinned. 

"I  thought  you'd  want  to  be  moving,"  he 
said. 

"Quite  right,"  said  my  father,  "and  put 
about  at  once  and  head  back  up  the  river." 

Mr.  Aiken  whistled  softly. 

"Well,  I'll  be  damned!"  he  muttered. 

"I  shall  want  ten  men  with  me  when  I 
land,"  my  father  continued.  "I've  done  my 
best  to  keep  the  crew  out  of  my  private  af 
fairs,  but  now  it  seems  impossible." 

"They'd  all  like  to  go,"  said  Mr.  Aiken. 
"They've  been  hoping  for  excitement  all 
day,  sir." 

"Ten  will  be  quite  enough,"  said  my 
father. 

"What  is  it  you  are  saying?"  Mademoi 
selle  asked  sharply. 

"Quite  nothing,"  he  replied,  "except  that 
we  are  going  back." 

His  arm  must  have  given  him  a  twinge, 
for  his  face  had  grown  very  white. 

"Surely  you  have  done  enough,"  she  said, 
and  her  voice  became  a  soft  entreaty. 

[229] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"Here  we  are  on  board  your  ship.  If  I 
told  you  I  was  not  entirely  sorry,  would  you 
not  go  on  ?  If  I  told  you,  captain,  I  did  not 
care  about  the  paper ?" 

My  father  waved  his  hand  in  graceful 
denial. 

"Not  go  back?  Ah,  Mademoiselle,"  he 
added  in  grave  rebuke,  "can  it  be  possible 
after  all,  in  spite  of  all  this — let  us  say  re 
grettable  melodrama — you  are  forgetting  I 
am  the  villain  of  this  piece,  and  not  a  very 
pleasant  one?  Even  if  I  wished,  my  lady, 
my  sense  of  hospitality  would  forbid  it.  My 
brother-in-law  is  waiting  for  me  under  my 
roof  tonight,  and  I  could  not  leave  him 
alone.  He  would  be  disappointed,  I  feel 
sure,  and  so  would  I.  I  have  had  a  strenu 
ous  evening.  I  need  recreation  now.  Load 
the  pistols,  Brutus." 

And  he  fell  silent  again,  his  eyes  on  the 
blank  wall  before  him,  his  fingers  playing 
with  his  glass. 

The  Sea  Tern  had  need  to  be  a  fast  ship, 
and  she  lived  up  to  requirements.  The  east 
erly  wind  sent  her  lightly  before  it,  cutting 
sheer  and  quick  through  the  roughened  sea. 
With  his  arm  in  a  sling  of  white  linen,  my 
father  sat  motionless,  apparently  passive 
and  regardless  of  the  flight  of  time.  It  was 

[230] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

only  when  we  veered  in  the  wind  and  orders 
were  shouted  from  forward  that  he  looked 
about  him. 

"Your  arm,  Brutus/'  he  said. 

On  deck  the  crew  was  at  work  about  the 
long  boat,  and  over  the  port  rail,  perhaps  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  away,  I  could  see  our 
house,  with  a  light  burning  in  the  window, 
flickering  through  the  waving  branches  of 
the  elms  that  half  hid  it.  Nearer  lay  our 
wharf,  a  black,  silent  shadow.  My  father 
watched  without  a  word.  The  anchor  chain 
growled  out  a  sharp  complaint,  and  the 
anchor  splashed  into  the  tide. 

"Mr.  Aiken,"  said  my  father,  "give  or 
ders  to  get  under  way  in  half  an  hour.  When 
we  land,  the  men  will  wait  at  the  wharf, 
and  be  ready  to  enter  the  house  when  you 
call  them.  You  shall  come  with  me,  my 
son.  I  can  still  show  you  something  amus 
ing  and  instructive." 

"And  I?"  Mademoiselle  demanded.  "Shall 
you  leave  me  here?" 

He  seemed  to  hesitate  for  a  moment. 

"Earlier  in  the  evening,  Mademoiselle," 
he  replied,  "I  had  given  orders  for  my  sloop 
to  carry  you  to  New  Orleans.  Your  boxes 
will  be  taken  from  the  house,  and  you  will 
be  taken  on  board  from  here.  May  you 

[231] 


THE   UNSPEAKALBE  GENTLEMAN 

have  a  pleasant  journey,  and  may  your 
friends  be  well  when  you  arrive." 

"You  mean  it  is  good-by?"  she  asked, 
and  her  voice  had  a  sound  that  reminded  me 
of  tears.  "You  mean  we  shall  not  meet 
again?" 

He  bowed  low  over  her  hand. 

"Mademoiselle  will  be  relieved  to  know 
we  shall  not,"  said  my  father  gravely.  "Let 
me  hope  you  may  always  have  more  plea 
sant  company." 

She  seemed  about  to  speak  again,  but  she 
did  not.  Instead,  she  turned  silently  away 
and  left  him,  and  a  second  later  I  saw  her 
disappear  in  the  shadow  of  the  main-mast. 

"Ah,"  said  my  father  ,"  there  is  a  woman 
for  you.  My  son,  in  the  side  pocket  of  my 
coat  you  will  find  a  snuff  box.  Would  you 
kindly  open  it  for  me  and  permit  me  to 
take  a  pinch?  And  you,  perhaps?  No?  It 
is  a  pleasant  sedative." 

He  took  a  step  nearer  the  rail,  and  the 
men  about  the  long  boat  stiffened  to  atten 
tion. 

"Get  them  into  the  boat,  Mr.  Aiken,"  he 
said.  "You  and  I  will  sit  in  the  stern,  my 
son.  Your  arm,  Brutus,  so." 

"Stand  by  to  lower  away,"  directed  Mr. 

[232] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

Aiken  in  a  harsh  undertone;  and  the  blocks 
creaked  and  we  were  in  the  river. 

The  oars  had  been  muffled,  so  that  we 
moved  to  the  wharf  in  silence. 

"Land  the  men,  and  tell  them  to  wait," 
said  my  father.  "You  shall  come  with  us, 
Mr.  Aiken,  and  you,  my  son,  and  you, 
Brutus." 

We  walked  silently  up  the  path,  with 
Brutus  and  my  father  in  the  lead.  Once  he 
paused  and  listened,  and  then  proceeded  for 
ward. 

"I  believe,"  said  my  father,  "he  is  quite 
alone.  Ha!" 

He  had  stopped  dead,  and  Brutus  had 
leapt  forward,  crashing  into  a  dense  thicket 
of  overgrown  bushes. 

"Put  up  your  pistol,  Ned,"  said  my 
father.  "Brutus  has  him." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  followed 
by  a  faint  cry. 

"  Bring  him  here,  Brutus,"  said  my  father. 
The  bushes  cracked  again,  and  Brutus  was 
back. 

"Now  who  the  devil  may  you  be?"  in 
quired  my  father,  striding  towards  the  fig 
ure  that  Brutus  was  holding,  and  then  he 
paused,  and  in  the  dark  I  fancied  he  was 
reaching  for  his  coat  lapel. 

[233] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"Lunacy,  thy  name  is  woman,"  said  my 
father  softly.  "Will  they  never  stay  where 
they  are  placed?" 

It  was  Mademoiselle  whom  Brutus  had 
thrust  before  him. 

"I  came  in  the  boat,"  she  stammered 
brokenly.  "I " 

"You  wanted  to  see  the  end,  my  lady?" 
my  father  inquired.  "Surely  you  should 
have  known  better,  but  it  is  too  late  now. 
You  are  going  to  be  present  at  a  harrowing 
scene,  which  I  hoped  to  save  you.  Mr. 
Aiken,  help  the  lady  over  the  path." 

And  we  proceeded  to  the  house  together. 
A  minute  later  we  made  our  way  over  the 
rough,  unkempt  grass  which  once  marked 
our  brick  terrace.  Brutus  opened  the  door 
and  we  were  in  the  dark  hall,  lighted  by  a 
square  of  candle  light  from  the  morning 
room.  He  paused  again  and  listened,  and 
then  strode  across  the  threshold.  A  blaze 
was  burning  high  in  the  morning  fireplace, 
and  six  candles  were  lighted  on  the  center 
table,  and  seated  before  it,  examining  my 
father's  papers,  were  my  Uncle  Jason  and 
Mr.  Lawton. 

"Ha!"  cried  Mr.  Lawton,  springing  to 
his  feet  and  eyeing  my  father  intently. 

[  234 1 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"So  you  are  here,  Shelton,  and  every  card 
in  the  deck." 

He  paused  to  nod  and  rub  his  hands. 

"Yes,  b'gad!  There's  the  girl  and  there's 
the  boy  and  there's  the  nigger.  It  was  Sims' 
idea  your  getting  on  the  boat.  He's  bright 
as  a  trap,  Jason.  I  told  you  he  was." 

My  father  sighed  a  little  sadly. 

"He  was  indeed,"  he  admitted. 

My  uncle  surveyed  him  with  his  broadest 
smile,  and  his  eyes  twinkled  with  a  malign 
amusement,  that  was  not  wholly  pleasant. 

"So  here  you  are,  George,  he  cried  in  a 
voice  that  seemed  to  shake  with  excitement. 
"God  help  you,  but  I  won't  or  your  son 
either,  no,  or  the  lady." 

"Indeed?"  inquired  my  father.  "Pray 
go  on,  Jason.  I  had  forgotten  you  were 
diverting,  or  is  it  one  of  your  latest  virtues." 

A  slight  crease  appeared  between  my 
uncle's  eyes,  and  his  face  became  a  trifle 
redder. 

"So  you  still  are  jovial,"  he  said.  "I  ad 
mire  you  for  it,  George.  Yes,  I  admire 
you,  because  of  course  you  know  what 
is  going  to  happen  to  you,  George,  and  to 
your  son  also.  Perhaps  you  will  wipe  away 
that  smirk  of  yours  when  a  French  firing 
squad  backs  you  against  a  wall." 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

My  father  adjusted  the  bandage  on  his 
arm,  and  smiled,  but  his  eyes  had  become 
bright  and  glassy. 

"So  you  have  quite  decided  to  send  me 
to  France,  Jason?"  he  inquired  pleasantly. 
"Of  course,  I  suspected  it  from  the  first. 
I  knew  you  hated  me,  and  naturally  my  son. 
I  knew  you  never  felt  the  same  after  our 
little  falling  out,  when  I  found  you  forg 
ing — what  am  I  saying? — reading  the  letter 
I  sent  to  Mr.  Aiken.  Gad!  but  your  face 
was  pasty  then,  you  sly  dog " 

He  paused  and  took  a  step  toward  him. 
He  was  a  different  man  when  he  continued. 
It  seemed  as  though  some  resistance  in  him 
was  breaking  down,  as  though  the  years  of 
repression  were  falling  away.  A  hot,  dull 
red  had  come  into  his  cheeks,  and  burned 
there  like  a  fever.  His  whole  body  trembled, 
shaken  by  some  emotion  which  I  could  not 
fathom.  His  voice  grew  sharp  and  discor 
dant,  his  words  hot  and  triumphant. 

"Almost  as  pasty  as  when  you  challenged 
me  to  produce  those  damned  bales  of  fur. 
Do  you  remember,  Jason?  The  party  here 
at  this  house — the  music,  the  flowers? 
Oh,  they  were  all  there!  And  of  course  I  had 
put  the  shavings  on  my  boat.  You  could 
prove  it,  and  you  could  too,  Lawton,  do 

[236] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

you  remember?  And  you  could  swear  to  it, 
and  you  could  swear  I  had  cheated  you 
before,  that  I  had  stolen  your  card  money. 
Oh,  you  caught  me.  You  brought  the  wolf 
to  bay  and  drew  the  sword  of  justice!" 

Mr.  Lawton  half  started  from  his  seat. 

"Be  still,  Shelton,"  he  snapped,  "or  I'll 
have  them  gag  you." 

My  father  clenched  his  fist,  drew  a  deep 
breath,  and  his  voice  lost  its  strident  note. 

"Ah,  Lawton,  Lawton,"  he  said.  "Will 
you  always  be  impetuous?  Will  you  never 
be  subtle,  but  always  crude,  always  the 
true  rough  diamond  with  the  keen  edge? 
No,  you  won't  gag  me,  Lawton. 

"And  so  you  will  send  me  to  France, 
Jason,  and  my  son  too,  criminals  to  justice. 
It  is  thoughtful  of  you  to  think  of  justice, 
but  tell  me,  Jason.  Is  it  I  you  hate,  or  my 
wife's  money  that  you  love  ?  Tell  me,  Jason, 
I  have  often  wondered." 

My  uncle's  face  also  became  a  flaming 
red;  the  veins  stood  out  on  his  temples. 
He  tried  to  speak,  but  his  words  choked 
him. 

"Sims,"  shouted  Mr.  Lawton.  "Sims! 
Take  him  out!  Take  him  away!" 

My  father  raised  his  eyes  to  the  ceiling 
and  sighed. 

[237] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"Ah  Lawton,"  he  said.  "Is  it  possible 
that  you  did  not  know  it?  Can  it  be  that 
you  do  not  understand  ?  Poor  Sims  is  dead, 
Lawton,  a  brave  man,  but  not  of  good 
physique.  The  evening  was  quite  too  much 
For  him.  Do  not  take  it  so  hard,  man! 
We  all  must  die,  you  among  the  rest.  You 
should  have  known  me  better,  Lawton. 
You  should  have  known  I  would  not  allow 
myself  to  be  taken  prisoner." 

"What!"  shouted  Mr.  Lawton.  "What 
the  devil  are  you  then  ?" 

The  scene  appeared  to  move  my  father, 
for  he  sighed  again,  and  paused,  the  better  to 
enjoy  it. 

"Only  a  poor  man/'  he  said,  "only  a  poor 
chattel  of  the  Lord's,  a  poor  frail  jug  that 
has  gone  too  often  to  the  well.  A  poor  man 
of  a  blackened  reputation,  who  has  been 
set  upon  by  spies  of  France,  and  threatened 
in  his  own  house,  but  who  has  managed  to 
escape — "  and  his  voice  became  sharp  and 
hard. 

"Take  Mr.  Lawton's  pistol,  Ned." 

There  fell  a  moment's  silence  in  the  room 
while  my  father,  a  little  in  advance  of  the 
rest  of  us,  stared  fixedly  into  my  uncle's 
eyes. 

"Set  upon  by  spies,"  he  said,  "persecuted 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

and  driven.  It  has  set  me  thinking,  Jason. 
As  I  walked  back  here  tonight,  I  still  was 
thinking,  and  can  you  imagine  what  was  on 
my  mind?  It  was  you,  Jason,  you  and 
Lawton.  And  as  I  thought  of  you,  my  mind 
fell,  as  it  naturally  would,  on  holy  things, 
and  a  piece  of  the  Scripture  came  back  to 
me.  Think  of  it,  Jason,  a  piece  of  the  Holy 
Writ.  Would  you  care  to  hear  it?" 

My  father  paused  to  adjust  a  wrinkle  in 
his  coat,  and  then  his  voice  became  solemn 
and  sonorous,  and  he  spoke  the  words  with 
metrical  precision. 

c"To  everything',"  said  my  father,"  there 
is  a  season,  and  a  time  to  every  purpose 
under  the  heaven.  A  time  to  be  born  and  a 
time  to  die'." 

He  paused  long  enough  to  nod  from  one 
to  the  other. 

UCA  time  to  plant  and  a  time  to  pluck  up 
that  which  is  planted'." 

He  raised  his  eyes  to  the  ceiling  again, 
and  placed  the  tips  of  his  fingers  together., 

"And  ca  time  to  kill',"  he  concluded 
gently.  His  words  died  softly  away  in  the 
quiet  room. 

"I  have  often  thought  of  that  passage," 
he  continued.  "Many  and  many  a  night 
I  have  repeated  it  to  myself,  under  stars 

[239] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

and  under  roof,  and  sometimes  I  have 
prayed,  Jason.  Oh  yes,  we  all  pray  some 
times.  Sometimes  I  have  prayed  for  the 
time  to  come." 

The  red  had  gone  out  of  my  uncle's  face, 
and  Mr.  Lawton  was  sitting  rigid  in  his 
chair,  his  eyes  glued  on  the  slender  figure 
before  him. 

"And  now,"  said  my  father,  in  a  tone 
that  was  as  near  to  the  pious  as  I  ever 
heard  him  utter,  "now  it  is  here,  and  I 
thank  thee,  Lord." 

"Good  God!"  gasped  Mr.  Lawton,  in  a 
voice  that  rose  only  a  little  above  a  whisper. 
"Do  you  mean  to  murder  us?" 

My  father  still  stood  motionless,  but  when 
he  spoke  again  his  voice  had  relapsed  to 
its  old  genial  courtesy. 

"What  a  word  for  gentlemen  to  use!" 
he  exclaimed  in  polite  rebuke.  "Murder 
you?  Of  course  not,  Lawton.  I  am  simply 
about  to  propose  a  game.  That  is  all,  an 
exciting  little  game.  Only  one  of  us  will 
die.  Clear  the  large  table  of  the  papers, 
Ned,  Toss  them  on  the  floor." 


[240] 


XVII 

Of  all  the  people  in  the  room,  my  father 
alone  retained  his  self-possession.  My  uncle's 
cheeks  had  sagged,  and  perspiration  made 
them  moist  and  shiny,  and  Mr.  Lawton 
seemed  bent  and  as  wrinkled  as  though  he 
had  aged  a  dozen  years. 

"Brutus,"  said  my  father,  "place  the 
pistols  on  the  table,  the  ones  I  gave  you  as 
we  came  on  shore.  Side  by  side,  Brutus. 
The  silver  mountings  look  well  against  the 
dark  mahogany.  Do  they  not  cheer  you, 
Jason?  And  now,  Brutus,  a  pack  of  cards 
from  the  bookshelves.  It  will  be  a  pretty 
game,  Lawton,  as  pretty  a  game  as  you  have 
ever  played." 

"Good  God!  What  are  you  going  to  do, 
Shelton?"  stammered  Mr.  Lawton,  and  he 
raised  a  trembling  hand  to  his  forehead. 

"You  grow  interested?"  my  father  in 
quired.  "I  thought  you  would,  Lawton, 
and  now  stand  up  and  listen !  And  you  too, 
Jason.  Stand  up,  you  dog!  Stand  up! 
The  world  is  still  rolling.  Are  you  ill?" 

And  indeed,  my  uncle  seemed  incapable 
of  moving. 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"Perhaps  you  would  prefer  to  sit/'  said 
my  father  politely.  "I  have  known  people 
wno  find  it  steadies  them  to  fire  across  the 
table  while  seated  in  a  chair.  Your  atten 
tion,  then,  and  I  will  tell  you  the  game. 
On  the  table  are  three  pistols.  One  of  them 
is  loaded.  The  question  is — which?  They 
are  all  made  by  the  same  smith.  And  yet 
one  is  different.  We  shall  find  out  which  it  is 
in  a  few  minutes.  Shuffle  the  cards,  Lawton. 
You  and  Jason  shall  draw.  The  low  number 
selects  the  first  pistol,  and  is  first  to  fire, 
and  then  the  next.  I  shall  take  the  last 
pistol,  and  we  shall  stand  across  the  table, 
you  and  Jason  where  you  are,  while  I  stand 
over  here.  Brutus,  give  the  cards  to  Mr. 
Lawton." 

My  father  smiled  and  bowed.  From  his 
manner  it  might  have  been  some  treat  he 
was  proposing,  some  pleasant  bit  of  sport 
that  all  knew  ended  in  hilarity.  Still 
smiling,  he  glanced  from  one  to  the  other, 
and  then  towards  Mademoiselle  and  me,  as 
though  seeking  our  approbation.  Even 
with  his  bandaged  arm  and  weather  stained 
clothes,  he  carried  himself  with  a  gaity  and 
grace. 

"Always  trust  in  chance,  my  son,"  he 
said. 

[242] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

My  uncle  leaned  forward,  and  drew  his 
hand  across  his  lips,  his  eyes  blank  and 
staring. 

"And  if  you  get  the  pistol?"  he  demanded 
hoarsely. 

"In  that  case/'  replied  my  father,  "Your 
troubles  will  be  over,  Jason.  Pray  rest 
assured — I  shall  attend  to  that.  And  then, 
when  that  is  finished  Brutus  shall  bring 
two  other  pistols,  and  Lawton  and  I  shall 
draw  again." 

Mr.  Lawton  grasped  the  cards  uncer 
tainly. 

"You  give  us  the  first  two  choices?"  he 
demanded. 

"The  host  naturally  is  last,"  said  my 
father.  "One  must  always  be  polite." 

"Then  you're  mad,"  said  Mr.  Lawton 
bluntly.  "Come,  Shelton,  step  outside, 
and  we'll  finish  it  on  the  lawn." 

"And  I  should  undoubtedly  kill  you," 
said  my  father.  "Pray  do  not  tempt  me, 
Lawton." 

"I  tell  you,  you're  mad,"  said  Mr. 
Lawton. 

"  I  have  been  told  that  once  before  today," 
said  my  father.  "And  still  I  am  not  sure. 
I  have  often  pictured  this  little  scene, 

[243] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

Lawton.  We  have  only  one  thing  to  add  to 
it.  Now  tell  me  if  I'm  mad/' 

My  father  had  reached  up  to  his  throat, 
and  was  fumbling  at  his  collar.  When  he 
drew  away  his  hand,  something  glittered 
between  his  fingers.  Silently  he  placed  his 
closed  fist  on  the  table,  opened  it,  and  there 
was  the  gold  locket  which  I  had  perceived 
in  the  morning.  He  pressed  the  spring,  and 
the  lid  flew  free.  Mr.  Lawton  leaned  for 
ward,  glanced  at  the  picture  inside,  and  then 
drew  back  very  straight  and  pale. 

"Come,  Lawton,"  said  my  father  gravely. 
"Which  is  it  now — madness  or  an  appeal 
for  justice  and  retribution  ?  With  her  picture 
on  the  table,  Lawton,  I  have  wondered — 
I  have  often  wondered,  Lawton — who  will 
be  the  lucky  man  to  draw  the  loaded  pistol  ? 
Let  us  leave  it  there,  where  we  can  watch  it 
before  we  fire.  I  have  often  thought  that 
she  would  like  it  so.  And  now — "  he 
nodded  again  and  smiled, — "surely  you  will 
oblige  me.  ShufHe  the  cards,  Lawton,  and 
let  the  game  go  on." 

Mr.  Lawton  bit  his  lower  lip,  fingered  the 
cards  uncertainly,  and  then  tossed  them  in 
the  fire. 

"Come,  come,  Lawton,"  said  my  father 
sharply.  "Where  are  your  manners?  Surely 

[244] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE   GENTLEMAN 

you  are  not  afraid,  not  afraid  of  a  picture, 
Law  ton?" 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Lawton,  "I  am  not 
afraid." 

"Ah,"  said  my  father,  "I  thought  I  knew 
you  better.  Another  pack  of  cards  for  Mr. 
Lawton,  Brutus.  Let  us  trust,  Lawton,  that 
these  will  suit  you  better." 

"You  misunderstand  me,"  said  Mr.  Law- 
ton  simply.  "I  am  not  going  to  play." 

"Not  going  to  play?"  exclaimed  my 
father,  raising  his  eyebrows. 

Slowly  Mr.  Lawton  shook  his  head. 

"You  are  far  too  generous,  Shelton,"  he 
said.  "If  you  shot  me  where  I  stand,  you 
would  only  be  giving  me  my  fair  deserts. 
If  I  had  been  in  your  place  and  you  in  mine, 
both  you  and  Jason  would  have  been  dead 
ten  seconds  after  I  had  entered  the  door." 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Lawton,"  cried  my 
father,  raising  his  hand.  "Think  what  you 
are  saying!" 

"I  have  thought,"  he  replied  sharply. 
"The  game  is  over,  Shelton,  and  I  know 
when  I  am  beaten.  We  have  not  got  the 
paper,  Jason,  and  you  remember  what  I 
said.  If  you  failed  to  get  it,  I  should  tell 
the  whole  story,  and  now,  by  heaven,  I  will. 
Every  man  in  town  will  know  it  tomorrow 

[245] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

morning.  I  told  you  I  would  be  shut  out  of 
this  business,  and  I  mean  it,  Jason." 

On  my  father's  face  came  something 
closer  to  blank  astonishment  than  I  had 
ever  seen  there.  Something  in  the  situation 
was  puzzling  him,  and  for  the  moment  he 
seemed  unable  to  cope  with  it. 

"Lawton,"  he  said  slowly,  "shuffle  those 
cards,  or  I'll  shoot  you  where  you  stand." 

Mr.  Lawton  placed  the  cards  on  the 
table,  and  adjusted  them  thoughtfully. 

"No,  you  won't,"  he  replied.  "I  know 
you  better  than  that.  You  would  never 
draw  a  weapon  on  any  man  unless  he  had 
an  equal  chance,  and  I  haven't,  Shelton." 

I  had  stepped  forward  beside  him.  Was 
there  someone  else  at  the  bottom  of  the 
whole  wretched  business?  Was  it  possible 
that  my  father  had  no  hand  in  it?  A  glance 
at  Mr.  Lawton  answered  a  half  a  hundred 
questions  which  were  darting  through  my 
mind. 

And  my  father  was  still  staring  in  a 
baffled  way,  eyeing  Mr.  Lawton  in  silent 
wonder. 

"So,"  he  said,  "you  think  I'll  forgive 
you?  Is  it  possible  you  are  relying  on  my 
Christian  spirit?" 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Lawton,  "I  do  not  ask 

[246] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

you  to  forgive  me.  I  am  saying  I  have 
stopped.  That  is  all — stopped,  do  you 
understand  me?  I  should  have  stopped 
when  Jason  commissioned  me  to  kill  your 
son.  I  should  have,  if  this  affair  with 
France  was  not  beginning.  Even  then  the 
business  sickened  me.  What  did  I  care 
about  the  money  he  stole  from  her?  I  did 
not  want  her  money.  What  did  I  care  if 
the  boy  suspected  you  had  not  stolen  it, 
but  that  Jason  had  it  all  the  time?  I 
couldn't  have  killed  him,  because  he  had 
some  slight  glimmerings  of  sense." 

A  dozen  dim  suspicions  clashed  suddenly 
together  into  fact.  I  looked  sharply  at  my 
father.  He  was  nodding,  with  some  faint 
suspicion  of  amusement. 

"And  so  you  did  not,"  he  said  gently. 
"Your  scruples  do  you  credit,  after  all." 

"It  was  just  as  well,"  said  Mr.  Lawton. 
"I  thought  the  news  your  son  was  attacked 
would  fetch  you  over.  Jason  did  his  best 
to  hush  it  up,  but  I  knew  you  would  suspect. 
And  you  know  what  it  would  have  meant 
to  me  if  I  could  have  sent  you  back  to 
France." 

And  yet,  for  some  reason,  my  father  was 
strangely  ill  at  ease.  Like  someone  detected 
in  a  falsehood,  he  looked  restlessly  about 

[247] 


THE    UNSPEAKALBE  GENTLEMAN 

him.  For  the  moment  his  adroitness  seemed 
to  have  left  him.  He  made  a  helpless  little 
gesture  of  annoyance. 

"You  say  you  have  stopped ?"  inquired 
my  father.  "Then  why  not  do  so,  Lawton, 
and  stop  talking.  Do  you  think  what  you 
say  interests  me?  Do  you  think  I  do  not 
know  the  whole  damnable  business,  without 
your  raking  it  up  again?  Why  should  Jason 
have  wished  to  be  rid  of  me  except  for  her 
money?  Why  should  you  have  helped  him, 

except At  least  it  was  not  for  money, 

Lawton." 

But  Mr.  Lawton  did  not  heed  my  father's 
voice.  His  glance  had  come  to  rest  again 
upon  the  locket  on  the  table,  and  the  hard 
lines  about  his  mouth  had  vanished. 

"And  she  never  spoke  to  me,  never  looked 
at  me  again,"  he  said. 

My  father  started  and  looked  at  him 
quickly. 

"Lawton,"  groaned  my  uncle,  "are  you 
out  of  your  mind?" 

Mr.  Lawton  turned  sharp  around  and 
faced  him  with  a  scowl. 

"  I  told  you,"  he  said  harshly.  "  I  told  you 
to  get  me  the  paper,  and  I  told  you  what 
would  happen  if  you  did  not,  and  it  is  hap- 

[248] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

pening  already,  Jason.  I  am  going  to  tell 
the  story." 

My  uncle  moved  convulsively  to  his  feet, 
and  his  voice  was  sharp  and  malignant. 

"Do  you  suppose  anyone  will  believe 
you?"  he  cried.  "Do  you  fancy  they  will 
take  your  word  against  mine?" 

"We  will  try  it,"  said  Mr.  Lawton. 
"There  are  still  people  who  wonder  why 
Shelton  stooped  to  the  thing  you  accused 
him  of.  We  certainly  will  try  it." 

"And  if  you  do,"  said  my  uncle,  "I  will 
show  it  was  she  who  did  it — that  it  was  she 
who  urged  him  on.  I'll  tell  them!  D'you 
hear  me?  I'll  tell  them,  and  they'll  take 
my  word  for  it.  They'll  take  my  word!" 

"God!"  cried  Mr.  Lawton.  "So  that's 
the  reason !  So  that's  the  trick  you  played. 
You  dog!  If  I  had  only  known " 

His  face  had  become  blanched  with  pas 
sion,  and  my  uncle  staggered  back  before  his 
upraised  hand,  but  Mr.  Lawton  did  not 
strike.  For  a  moment  he  stood  rigid,  and 
when  he  spoke  he  had  regained  his  self- 
control. 

"You  will  never  tell  it,  Jason,"  he  said 
slowly,  and  then  he  turned  to  my  father,  and 
inclined  his  head  very  gravely,  and  his  voice 
was  no  longer  harsh  and  strident. 

[249] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"I  often  wondered  why  you  left  her  so," 
he  said,  "and  why  you  did  not  face  it.  You 
feared  her  name  might  be  dragged  in  the 
mire!  Because  he  threatened  to  bring  her 
into  that  miserable  business,  you  never 
raised  a  hand.  I  always  knew  you  were  a 
gentleman,  but  I  did  not  know  you  were 
Don  Quixote  de  la  Mancha." 

For  the  first  time  since  the  two  had 
spoken,  my  father  moved.  He  leaned  across 
the  table,  picked  up  the  locket  very  gently, 
and  placed  it  in  his  coat.  His  eyes  rested  on 
Lawton,  and  returned  his  bow. 

"Rubbish!"  said  my  father.  "One  liar  is 
bad  enough,  but  why  listen  to  two?  We  will 
leave  her  name  out  of  the  conversation. 
Perhaps  I  had  other  reasons  for  going  away. 
Did  they  ever  occur  to  you,  Lawton? 
Perhaps,  for  instance,  I  was  sick  of  the 
whole  business.  Did  you  ever  think  I  might 
have  found  it  pleasant  to  leave  so  uncon 
genial  an  atmosphere,  that  I  was  relieved, 
delighted  at  the  opportunity  to  leave  lying 
relatives,  and  friends  who  turned  their 
backs?  Faugh!  I  have  kept  the  matter 
quiet  for  fifteen  years,  merely  because  I  was 
too  indolent  to  stand  against  it.  I  was  too 
glad  to  see  the  cards  fall  as  they  did  to  call 
for  a  new  deal.  There  I  was,  tied  up  to  a 

[250] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

family  of  sniveling  hypocrites.  Look  at 
Jason,  look  at  him.  Who  wouldn't  have  been 
glad  to  get  away?" 

And  he  bowed  to  my  uncle  ironically. 

"Positively,  I  was  glad  to  hear  the 
crash.  'Very  well/  I  said,  'I  am  a  thief, 
since  it  pleases  you  to  think  so/  Thieves  at 
least  are  a  more  interesting  society,  and 
I  have  found  them  so,  Lawton,  not  only 
more  interesting,  but  more  honest." 

But  somehow  there  was  no  ring  of  con 
viction  to  his  words.  His  voice  seemed  un 
able  to  assume  its  old  cynicism,  and  his  face 
had  lost  its  former  placidity.  It  had  sud 
denly  become  old  and  careworn.  Pain  and 
regret,  sharp  and  poignant,  were  reflected 
there.  His  eyes  seemed  strained  and  tired, 
the  corners  of  his  mouth  had  drooped,  and 
his  body  too  was  less  erect  and  resolute. 
Something  had  been  broken.  For  a  moment, 
his  mask  and  his  mantle  had  dropped  where 
he  could  not  find  them.  And  then,  as  he 
stood  looking  ahead  of  him  at  the  shadows, 
he  ended  his  speech  in  a  way  that  had  no 
logic  and  no  relation  to  the  rest. 

"If  she  had  only  said  she  did  not  believe 
them Why  did  she  not  say  it?" 

^And  then  he  squared  his  shoulders  and 
tried  again  to  smile. 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"But  what  difference  does  it  make  now? 
The  road  has  turned  too  long  ago  for  us  to 
face  about/' 

"She  never  spoke  to  me,  never  looked  at 
me  again!"  repeated  Mr.  Lawton. 

My  father's  fist  crashed  down  on  the 
table,  but  when  he  spoke  his  words  were  pre 
cise  and  devoid  of  all  emotion. 

"And  why  the  devil  should  she,"  he  an 
swered.  "We  are  not  questioning  her  taste. 
And  you,  Jason,"  he  added.  "No  one  will 
doubt  your  word,  or  believe  this  little  ro 
mance.  Do  you  wonder  why?  They  will 
never  have  the  opportunity.  Brutus,  take 
them  down  to  the  boat." 

Brutus  stepped  forward  and  laid  a  hand 
on  my  uncle's  shoulder.  He  shrank  back. 

"George,"  he  cried,  "you  shall  have  the 
money.  I  swear  it,  George.  I  have  wronged 
you,  but " 

"Yes,"  said  my  father,  "I  shall  have  the 
money,  and  you  too,  Jason.  I  shall  have 
everything.  Take  them  along,  Brutus,"  and 
they  left  the  room  in  silence,  while  my 
father  watched  them  thoughtfully,  and  ar 
ranged  the  lapel  on  his  coat. 

"Ned,"  said  my  father,  "the  rum  de 
canter  is  over  on  the  bookshelves.  Good 
God,  where  is  he  going?"  for  Mr.  Aiken  had 

[252] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

darted  into  the  hall,  and  was  running  up 
the  staircase. 

"Is  the  man  mad?   Is " 

My  father  stopped,  and  was  looking  at 
the  table.  I  followed  his  glance,  and  started 
involuntarily.  There  had  been  three  pistols 
lying  side  by  side  on  the  polished  mahogany, 
and  now  there  were  only  two. 

"My  son,"  said  my  father,  "the  rum  de 
canter  is  on  the  bookshelves.  The  glasses 
» 

A  shout  from  the  hall  interrupted  him. 

"B'gad,  captain!"  Mr.  Aiken  was  roar 
ing.  "Damme!  Here's  another  of  'em! 
You  would  bite  me,  would  you!  Hell's  fire 
if  I  don't  cut  your  gullet  open." 

"What  an  evening  we  are  having,  to  be 
sure,"  said  my  father,  turning  to  the  door 
way. 

Mr.  Aiken  was  pushing  a  man  before  him 
into  the  room,  and  holding  a  dirk  at  his 
throat. 

"Ives!"  shrieked  Mademoiselle. 

"  She  is  right,"  said  my  father.  "  It  is  Ives 
de  Blanzy.  I  had  forgotten  you  had  sent 
him  to  the  house." 

^  The  man  Mr.  Aiken  was  holding  wrenched 
himself  free,  and  sprang  forward,  shaking  a 
fist  in  my  father's  face. 

[253] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"Forgotten!"  he  shouted.  Was  it  you 
who  sent  me  here  and  had  me  tied  in  the 
cellar,  and  left  me  chewing  at  the  rope,  and 
set  this  pirate  on  me?  Mother  of  God! 
Captain  Shelton!  Is  this  a  joke  you  are 
playing " 

"Only  a  very  regrettable  error,"  said  my 
father.  "A  mistake  of  my  son's.  Pray  calm 
yourself,  Ives.  It  is  quite  all  right.  My 
son,  this  is  Mademoiselle's  brother." 

"Her  brother!"  I  cried. 

"And  who  the  devil  did  you  think  I  was?" 
He  walked  slowly  towards  me.  "Have  you 
no  perceptions?" 

He  would  have  continued  further,  if  my 
father  had  not  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm. 

"Gently,  Ives,"  he  said.  "You  know  I 
would  not  treat  you  so.  Give  him  the  paper, 
my  son.  He  is  the  one  who  should  have  it." 

I  stared  at  my  father  in  blank  astonish 
ment,  but  before  I  could  speak,  he  had 
continued. 

"I  know  what  you  are  thinking.  What 
was  the  use  of  all  this  comedy  ?  Why  should 
I  have  deceived  you?  I  was  only  running 
true  to  form,  my  son,  which  is  the  only 
thing  left  to  do  when  life  tastes  bitter.  Do 
you  not  understand?  But  you  do  not. 

[254] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

Your  palate  is  unused  yet  to  gall  and  worm 
wood.     Only  wait,  my  son " 

He  raised  his  hand  slowly,  as  though 
tilting  an  imaginary  glass  to  his  lips. 

"Only  wait.  They  will  offer  you  the  cup 
some  day,  and  we  were  always  heavy 
drinkers.  Pray  God  that  you  will  stand  it 
with  a  better  grace  than  I — that  you  will 
forget  the  sting  and  rancor  of  it,  and  not 
carry  it  with  you  through  the  years." 

His  eyes  grew  brighter  as  he  spoke,  and 
his  features  were  suddenly  mobile  and 
expressive. 

'She  said  she  believed  it.  She  threw 
their  lies  in  my  face.  She  lashed  me  with 
them,  and  my  blood  was  hotter  then  than 
now.  She  would  not  listen,  and  I  forgot  it 
was  a  woman's  way.  How  was  I  to  know 
it  was  only  impulse?  I  ask  you — how  was 
I  to  know?  Was  I  a  man  to  crawl  back, 
and  ask  her  forgiveness,  to  offer  some 
miserable  excuse  she  would  not  credit? 
And  you,  brought  into  manhood  to  believe 
I  was  a  thief — was  I  to  stand  your  flinging 
back  my  denial?  Was  I  to  pose  as  the 
picture  of  injured  innocence,  and  beg  you 
the  favor  of  believing?  I  would  not  have 
expected  it  of  you,  my  son.  By  heaven,  it 
would  have  stuck  in  my  throat.  I  had 

[255] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

gone  my  way  too  long,  and  the  draught 
still  tasted  bitter.  It  burned,  burned  as  I 
never  thought  it  would  again,  when  I  first 
saw  you  standing  watching  me.  Indeed  it 
is  only  now  that  its  taste  has  wholly  gone 
— only  now  that  I  see  what  I  have  done, 
now  when  the  lights  are  dim,  and  it  is  too 
late  to  begin  again." 

He  stopped  and  squared  his  shoulders 
and  the  harshness  left  his  voice. 

"You  understand,  I  hope,"  he  added 
"Give  him  the  paper,  Henry."  And  he 
nodded  towards  Ives  de  Blanzy. 

I  drew  it  from  my  pocket,  and  handed  it 
to  him  in  silence. 

"Now  what  is  the  meaning  of  this?"  said 
Ives  de  Blanzy  harshly.  "This  is  not  the 
paper!  The  cursed  thing  is  blank  inside!" 

My  father  snatched  it  from  his  hands. 

"Blank!"  he  muttered.  "Blank!  Clean 
as  the  driven  snow!  Is  it  possible  I  have 
failed  in  everything?" 

Mademoiselle  had  moved  forward,  and 
touched  his  arm.  He  glanced  at  her  quickly, 
and  slowly  his  frown  vanished. 

"Naturally  it  is  blank,  captain,"  said 
Mademoiselle.  "I  took  the  real  one  from 
you  this  morning  when  you  left  it  in  your 
volume  of  Rabelais.  I  thought  that  you 

[256] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

might  place  it  there.  I  am  sorry,  captain, 
sorry  now  that  you  made  me  take  you 
seriously." 

The  paper  dropped  from  his  fingers  and 
fluttered  to  the  floor,  but  strangely  enough 
he  did  not  appear  chagrined.  His  gallantry 
was  back  with  him  again,  and  with  it  all 
his  courtesy. 

"Ah,  Mademoiselle/'  he  said,  "I  should 
have  known  you  better.  Will  there  always 
be  a  woman  where  there  is  trouble?" 

"And  you  have  not  made  me  hate  you, 
Captain,"  Mademoiselle  continued. 

"But  you,  my  son,"  said  my  father,  "you 
understand?" 

I  felt  his  glance,  but  I  could  not  meet  it. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "I  understand." 

"Good,"  said  my  father.  "Here  comes 
Brutus.  And  now  we  shall  have  our  rum." 

"I  understand,"  I  said,  and  my  voice 
seemed  unsteady,  "that  you  are  a  very 
brave  and  upright  gentleman." 

"The  devil!"  cried  my  father. 

And  then  he  started  and  whirled  toward 
the  door. 

"Ned!  I ves!"  he  called  sharply.  "What 
the  devil  is  going  on  outside?"  and  the  three 
of  them  had  darted  into  the  hall. 

Clear  and  distinct  through  the  quiet  night 

[257] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

had  come  a  shriek  and  the  report  of  a  pistol. 

I  started  to  follow  them,  but  Mademoiselle 
had  laid  a  hand  on  my  arm,  and  was  point 
ing  to  the  table.  I  lifted  first  one  and  then 
the  other  of  the  two  pistols  that  were  lying 
there.  Neither  was  primed.  Neither  was 
loaded. 

"The  third  one,"  she  said  quietly,  "Mr. 
Lawton  took.  No,  no,"  she  added,  as  I 
started  toward  the  door,  "Stay  here,  Mon 
sieur.  It  is  not  your  affair." 


[258] 


XVIII. 

She  still  stood  looking  at  the  pistols  on 
the  table.  Was  she  thinking,  as  I  was,  of 
the  irony,  and  the  comedy  and  the  tragedy 
that  had  been  so  strangely  blended  in  the 
last  hour?  Slowly  she  turned  and  faced  me, 
her  slender  fingers  tugging  aimlessly  at  her 
handerchief.  For  a  moment  her  eyes  met 
mine.  Then  she  looked  away,  and  the^color 
had  deepened  in  her  cheeks. 

"So,"  said  Mademoiselle,  "It  is  almost 
over.  Are  you  not  glad,  Monsieur,  that  it 
is  finished?" 

The  wick  of  a  candle  had  dropped  to  the 
wax,  and  was  spluttering  fitfully.  Mechani 
cally  I  moved  to  fix  it. 

"No,"  I  said,  "I  am  not  glad." 

"Not  glad?  Surely  you  are  glad  it  has 
ended  so.  Surely  you  are  glad  your  father — " 

"No,"  I  said,  and  my  voice  was  so  much 
louder  than  I  had  intended  that  the  sound 
of  it  in  the  quiet  room  made  me  stop 
abruptly.  She  looked  up  at  me,  a  little 
startled. 

"At  least  Monsieur  is  frank,"  she  said. 

[259] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"Do  you  know — have  you  thought  that 
you  are  the  only  one  of  us  who  has  been 
wholly  so,  who  has  not  had  something  to 
conceal?  Pray  go  on,  Monsieur.  It  is 
pleasant  to  hear  someone  who  is  frank 
again.  Continue!  You  must  be  glad  for 
something.  Every  cloud  must  have — do 
you  not  say — a  silver  lining?  If  it  is  not 
your  father — surely  you  are  glad  about 
me?" 

She  made  a  graceful  little  gesture  of 
interrogation. 

"Come,  come,"  she  went  on,  "You  are 
not  yourself  tonight.  Never  have  I  seen 
you  look  so  black.  Think,  Monsieur!  The 
men  are  on  deck  and  the  wind  is  fair.  Soon 
I  shall  be  going.  Soon  you  will  forget." 

"No,"  I  said,  "Mademoiselle  is  mistaken. 
I  shall  not  forget." 

"Nor  I,"  she  said  gravely,  "I  wonder, 
Monsieur,  if  you  understand — but  you  can 
not  understand  what  it  has  meant  to  me. 
I  have  tried  to  tell  you  once  before,  but 
you  are  cold,  like  your  father.  I  have  seen 
many  men  who  have  said  gallant  things, 
but  only  you  two  of  all  I  know  have  done 
them." 

"I  have  done  nothing,"  I  said.  "You 
know  I  have  done  nothing." 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

"But  it  has  not  been  your  fault,"  she 
answered.  "And  was  it  nothing  to  protect 
a  stranger  from  a  strange  land,  when  you 
had  nothing  to  gain  from  it  and  everything 
to  lose?" 

"Mademoiselle  forgets/'  I  said,  "that  I 
had  nothing  to  lose.  It  was  lost  already." 

"Then  surely,"  she  replied  lightly,  "surely 
you  must  be  glad  I  am  going?" 

"You  know  better  than  that,"  I  answered. 
"Ah,  Mademoiselle,  do  you  not  see?  I 
hoped  I  might  show  you  that  I  did  not 
always  blunder.  I  hoped  I  might  show 
you " 

The  words  seemed  to  choke  me. 

"Ah,  Mademoiselle,"  I  cried,  "if  I  had 
only  been  on  the  stairs  at  Blanzy!" 

"Blanzy!"  she  echoed,  "Pray  what  has 
Blanzy  to  do  with  you  and  me?" 

Even  now  I  do  not  know  what  made  me 
speak,  save  that  she  was  going.  The  very 
ticking  of  the  clock  was  bringing  the 
moment  nearer,  and  there  she  was,  staring 
at  me,  wide-eyed,  half  puzzled  and  half 
frightened.  It  seemed  already  as  though 
she  were  further  away. 

"Do  you  not  see?"  I  said.  "It  is  not  like 
you  not  to  understand.  Nor  is  it  very  kind. 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

How  can  I  see  you  go  and  be  glad?  How 
can  I  be  glad  you  love  my  father?" 

"Mon  Dieu!"  she  exclaimed  suddenly 
startled,  "Your  father!  I  care  for  your 
father!" 

I  bowed  in  quick  contrition. 

"Mademoiselle,"  I  said,  "I  fear  I  have 
been  very  rude,  and,  as  usual,  very  gauche. 
I  beg  you  to  forgive  me." 

"But  I  tell  you,"  she  cried,  "I  do  not  love 
him!" 

I  bowed  again  in  silence. 

"You  do  not  believe  me?" 

"Mademoiselle  may  rest  assured,"  I 
replied  gently,  "that  I  understand — per 
fectly." 

"You!"  I  started  at  her  sudden  vexation, 
started  to  find  that  her  eyes  were  filled 
with  tears. 

"You  understand  quite  nothing!  Never 
have  I  seen  anyone  so  cruel,  so  stupid!" 

"Mademoiselle,"  I  said,  "I  have  been 
awkward,  but  forgive  me — the  cabin  of  the 
Sea  Tern,  where  you  asked  him  to  sail  on, 
and  when  you  bade  him  recall  what  he  said 
on  the  stairs  at  Blanzy  .  .  .  Your  pardon! 
I  have  been  very  blunt." 

And  now  she  was  regarding  me  with  blank 
astonishment. 

[262] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE   GENTLEMAN 

"Surely  he  told  you,"  she  murmured, 
"Surely  he  told  you  what  the  Marquis  had 
intended." 

Then  she  stopped,  confused  and  silent. 

"Mon  Dieu!"  she  exclaimed  suddenly, 
"But  he  has  told  you  nothing!" 

"No,"  I  said  dully,  "He  has  been  most 
discreet.  But  does  it  make  any  real  dif 
ference,  Mademoiselle,  except  that  I  know 
now  that  the  Marquis  was  a  man  of  very 
keen  discrimination?" 

"Are  you  mad?"  cried  Mademoiselle,  "I 
tell  you  it  is  not  your  father.  I  tell  you  I — " 

Her  face  had  grown  scarlet.  She  bowed 
her  head,  and  tugged  more  violently  than 
ever  at  the  corner  of  her  handkerchief. 

"Mademoiselle,"  I  said  unsteadily, 
"Mademoiselle,  what  was  it  he  told  you  at 
Blanzy?" 

"I  cannot  tell  you  if  you  do  not  know," 
she  answered,  "Indeed  I  cannot." 

"  But  you  will ! "  I  cried.  "  You  will,  Ma 
demoiselle!  You  must!  Mademoiselle " 

Her  eyes  had  met  mine  again. 

"They  were  breaking  in  the  door,"  she 
began,  "and  he  was  going  down  to  meet 
them.  I  told  him — I  told  him  to  go,  to  leave 
me,  and  take  the  paper.  He  said " 

[263] 


THE    UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

She  paused  again,  watching  me  in  vague 
embarrassment. 

"He  said  he'd  be  damned  if  he  would, 
Monsieur.  He  said  he  would  do  what  the 
Marquis  had  directed,  if  he  had  to  swing 
for  it.  That  he  would  take  the  paper  and 
me  to  America — that  I  ...  Mon  Dieu! 
Do  you  not  know  what  he  said!  Can  you 
not  guess?  .  .  .  He  said  that  I  was  to 
marry  his  son." 

A  smile  suddenly  played  about  her  lips. 

"And  I  told  him/'  she  continued  breath 
lessly,  "I  told  him  I'd  be  damned  if  I  would, 
Monsieur.  That  neither  he  nor  the  Mar 
quis  would  make  me  marry  a  man  I  did  not 
know,  much  less  a  son  of  his!" 

"And  when  you  asked  him  to  recall  it — 
Mademoiselle,  when  you  asked  him  to  recall 
it,  did  you  mean — tell  me,  Mademoiselle!" 

"Ah,"  she  whispered,  "but  it  is  too  soon, 
and  you  are  too  rough,  Monsieur!  I  beg  of 
you — be  careful!  Besides — someone  is  com 
ing." 

And  then  I  heard  a  soft  footstep  behind 
me. 

"Huh!"  said  Brutus,  "I  go  tell  the  cap 
tain.  No.  It  is  all  right.  I  tell  the  captain. 
He  is  happy.  It  will  please  him.  Huh!" 

[264] 


THE   UNSPEAKABLE  GENTLEMAN 

His  long  speech  seemed  to  have  taken  his 
breath,  for  he  paused,  grinning  broadly. 

"Huh!"  he  said  finally.  "Mr.  Lawton 
shoot  Mr.  Jason.  Shoot  him  with  pistol  oft 
the  table.  The  captain  is  happy." 

But  before  Brutus  could  turn  to  go,  my 
father  was  in  the  doorway,  smoothing  the 
bandage  on  his  arm. 

"Let  us  say  relieved,  Brutus,"  he  an 
swered  smoothly.  "It  is  dangerous  ever  to 
use  superlatives." 

Then  he  glanced  from  Mademoiselle  to 
me,  and  his  smile  broadened. 

"Very  much  relieved,"  he  said,  "and  yet 
— and  yet  I  still  feel  thirsty.  The  rum  de 
canter,  Brutus." 


[265] 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


LD 


22 


27Mar'62JC 


REC'D  LD 


MAR  1  Q  1PR? 


LD  21-100m-6/56 
(B9311slO)476 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


f 


/ 


YC  92926 

;/' 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


